


Fides et Veritas

by Magnolie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, British English, Catholic School, Conflict, Dysfunctional Family, M/M, Original Character(s), Private School, Romance, School Uniforms, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 92,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolie/pseuds/Magnolie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith and Truth said the gothic letters right beneath the school's coat of arms. Faith and Truth to and for everyone, that was what they told their students, what they asked them to make their maxim and right until now, Bilbo had done his best to make them his too - well, that was until that new/old head master made it more or less (actually rather less) clear that he was not exactly fond of Bilbo. But still - the year that first seemed to turn into a nightmare, soon proves to be the landmark of Bilbo's life and the greatest adventure of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is freaking me out now. I've had this idea for the first time during the first Hobbit Movie, when I joked: They should make Erebor a private school, all dwarves being the teachers and Bilbo being the new one. - Here I am now, almost a year later - after forgetting and forgetting about it and this is the first Chapter. Before we start this adventure - I need to thank [Laura](http://little-big-spoon.tumblr.com/), who made me write this eventually and [Chelsea](http://graceblackthorn.tumblr.com/) my wonderful Beta Reader and advisor. However, here we go, the journey begins :)

 

 

 

 [COVER ART THIS WAY](http://little-magnolie.tumblr.com/post/74727979277/bagginshield-modern-day-au-fides-et-veritas)

**  
**

He had always liked those glass windows. Right in the early morning hours, when the sun would look unbelievably beautiful shining through them, suffusing the church in an uncountable number of colours, was his favorite time to linger at the church. It made him feel calm and sheltered as if this was the right place for him to be. The rose window, right above the altar, was his favorite part of the glass installations. There were twenty six smaller windows, all depicting the passion of Christ and the resurrection, but the middle of the rose window held a bright, yellow glass tile, on which a white dove with a green palm leaf was soaring into the sky. Upon his arrival and first service at the school church, he had been told that the rose window was one of the oldest in Great Britain and that the church was open to the public during the summer holidays because more and more tourists from York and Leeds kept asking to see it.

Still in awe and wonderfully happy and content to be back, Bilbo looked away from the window and into the crowded hall. Just as usual, all teachers had taken their seats in the gallery above the left aisle while the students were seated beneath them in the nave, the youngest right in front of the altar, the older ones further in the back towards the entrance just before the members of the school board, the governing body comprised of alumni, parents and two pastors from Leeds and York. Students still kept pouring in and the church was far from full but filled with cheerful chattering and muffled noise. When he had taken on the job offer exactly a year ago, he had expected an old and big school house, but not such a great church. More some kind of chapel like his school had had. He had felt at home very quickly still. He wasn’t the most faithful man, nothing of the alike actually, compared to some of his colleagues or the non-teaching staff, but he liked architecture and he liked churches and the Erebor church services.

He looked up as right next to him Henry Bofur filled his usual chair. He had not seen him in the summer (he had been travelling) and Henry happily hugged him with one arm as he had placed his bag underneath his seat.

 _It is truly good to be back_ , Bilbo thought.

“How have you been doing?” Bofur asked and took the booklet that had been designed for the first school service of the year.

“Great, actually I had the most wonderful summer,” Bilbo answered. He had spent most of the summer abroad as well. He had visited relatives in Ireland and an old school friend in Paris before he had taken a flight to Izmir, spending some weeks at the Royal English Institute and supporting a team of PhD students who focused their research on ancient Roman History and modern Turkey. It had been quite a time, filled with everyday-sunshine and good food. Much to his despair, the scale had supported that after his return. He had gained six pounds he would surely keep for the rest of his life.

“Brilliant,” Bofur said, and Bilbo quickly began to ask about his friend's time on the American West Coast.

There were so deep in their conversation, that Bilbo almost did not notice how some of his other colleagues were now filling the gallery as well. They all looked much better now, than they had on the last day of school, well rested and prepared for another year. He was, however, missing Gandalf when the organ started to play, a reminder that one should now fall silent and pastor Adams was about to open the service. Downstairs, the students were still rambling and talking.

Bilbo’s glance eventually fell down at the three chairs next to the priest’s. Lily Abernathy, Gandalf’s representative, had already taken the one on the right and now that the service was about to start, he detected two male figures descending from the stairs behind the altar and proceeding towards Lily. One of them was clearly Gandalf, tall, with white hair and dressed in a grey suit as ever, but Bilbo did not recognize the man walking right next to him. He was a few centimeters shorter than the head master and wore a striking, blue suit fitting him just perfectly. Bilbo had never seen him before, neither here at school nor somewhere else. Was Gandalf introducing a new teacher? He had not been seated there last year when he had started working at Erebor.

He did not have much more time to wonder about the stranger, because when the two of them had taken seat next to Lily, Pastor Adams started the mass.

All at once, the 550 students attending Erebor School arose from their seats humming the first tunes of the school anthem before the organ started playing and both students and academic staff joined in together, singing the few lines.

  
  
_As we rejoice to dwell and to study,_  
_we find ourselves to be just at home._  
_We open our hearts to faith and to truth,_  
_blessed by the Lord and our own strong will._  
  
_We will strive for perfection and courage,_  
_a promise to all while we stand here today._  
_Let us show what we’ve found to be valiant,_  
_faith and truth in our hearts and ourselves._

 

Bilbo had always been astonished by the pride every student showed when singing those chords. Each and every one of them was standing in line with their chins up and the chest out, not missing one line. He had to smirk as his glare found the new first graders, all between the ages of ten and thirteen, still short and looking rather unfitting in their school uniforms, but even most of them seemed to have studied the song during the summer and he could hardly see anyone, standing there with their mouth closed.

As the last line was sung and the students had seated again after Pastor Adams’ first prayer, Bilbo took another minute to find Gandalf and his companion, sitting behind the pastor. Gandalf’s eyes were concentrated on Adams, not ever looking up and so were those of the stranger. Only Lily seemed to be looking to some students in the first row, who were whispering to each other.

As Adams slowly went on with his sermon, recollecting the most important events of the last school year, Bilbo lost himself in his own thoughts. Vivid memories of the many days at Erebor School still filled his mind, dating back to the day Gandalf had visited him at home in Brighton. Bilbo had been startled then – he had not seen Gandalf in years – not since his days as a student.

“I am quite busy.” He had said.

“Well I am sure you have worked so hard you will be able to pause for a while, drinking tea with an old friend,” Gandalf had charmed his way in, much to Bilbo’s despair. He had his routines and he disliked them to be disturbed.

“What can I do for you?” He offered anyway alongside a cup of tea and some biscuits.

“I am about to leave again for York next month, I will be filling the vacant position of the headmaster at a school.”

“You? At a school?” Bilbo had asked, furrowing his brow. He had always known Gandalf as an independent researcher and writer but not as a teacher or head master. Gandalf had given him a quite displeased look, taking a sip form his tea.

"I've been there for the last two years, at the University first, then at the school."

"Have you?" Bilbo asked in a surprised manner.

“There will be need for a German and Latin teacher as well.”

That had been when Bilbo had almost spit his tea out again. Was this a job offer? If yes – his answer was _no_ , if not – it was _no_ as well.

“Then you must surely find one,” he had said instead, placing his cup of tea on the table and awkwardly shifting in his armchair.

“How long have you been living in this flat, Bilbo Baggins? How can you be satisfied with tutoring lame students that are not even interested in Ovid’s Metamorphosis or Goethe’s Faust ?”

“I am very much, actually.” And it was true. He had liked his peaceful life in Brighton. He worked at home, having a few students every day and taking a walk to the beach every weekend. The routine suited him well, nothing unexpected ever happened to him – well, except for unplanned visits of old friends of course.

“You were such an eager and bright student in Heidelberg, where has that gone?” Gandalf had awarded him with an incomprehensible look.

“I am very sorry you will have to continue your quest, Gandalf. I am quite pleased with my life.”

“ _Pleased_? How can you be _pleased_ with your life? You only have one. Is _pleased_ not a little too unsatisfying? Where is the old Bilbo that used to question every established standard interpretation of _Die Räuber_ until his teachers weren’t sure about it either? Where is the Bilbo that answered Dr. Rubinstein in fluent Latin when he criticized him for his free translation of _De Bello Gallico_?” Gandalf had lent forward, looking Bilbo straight in the eyes and Bilbo had bitten his tongue feeling more and more uncomfortable.

“He has settled,” was his final answer and Gandalf had left then, not without _forgetting_ a brochure of ‘Erebor School for Boys and Girls’ on the table and his mobile number.  
That brochure had stared at Bilbo for five days, being a threatening reminder of something he could not quite grasp.

He had dismissed any thought of moving to the North, of course. That Erebor School was right in between York and Leeds, hours away from Brighton.  
He was about to throw it away on day six, when Andy Littlemayer arrived earlier as usual, awaiting his weekly German lesson/torture. Halfway through reading a simple text (no, actually he was stammering, pronouncing not a single word the way he should), Bilbo’s eyes had found the brochure again in the light of the afternoon sun. _Fides et Veritas_ , Faith and Truth, had been printed above a beautiful coat of arms and a picture of the school, a huge, gothic building in the midst of a green landscape.

“No-no stop, it is _Vertrauen_ not fetrauein you…” he had stopped then, being tired of Andy’s unwillingness to at least learn some simple spelling and grammar.

A few days later he had called Gandalf and found a new apartment in the center of York.

And here he was now, a year later. Teaching Latin and German to Erebor’s students and feeling quite at home in the old school house, his classroom and the never ending floors that always seemed to hold another surprise for him. His students were brilliant, almost all together. There was really no one who ever achieved a lower grade than B- and even if they did, they would study so hard the next exam would be an A again. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile a little. He wasn’t much of an adventurer and he hated changes, but moving to York had proven to be just right and fitting. His mother would be proud of him, he thought, finally finding the place he was supposed to be. He could hear her in his mind saying: “The only thing that’s missing now is a handsome lad to make you happy.”

Bilbo had to roll his eyes at the thought. He had been far too busy for anything like that he told himself, and he would wait until the right one would come along. Truth was that he did not like falling in love very much. That one time he had thought himself to be in love with someone, it had had been unrequited and everything after that, had always brief and not lasting longer than a few months. He could count them all on one hand if he wished to, although he never did.

Bilbo was harshly tugged out of his mind when everyone arose again, singing _Glory, Glory Hallelujah_ and he realized that he had ‘missed’ more than a half hour of sermon, prayer and speeches. He hoped he had not missed too much yet, but he was afraid he had when the strange man in the blue suit came to stand before the altar. They were still singing the last words of the song, when Bilbo realised that he was looking up to him, not the gallery in a whole, but him. He had bright, beautiful, blue eyes – Bilbo could see that even from up here – but something in his face troubled him. His features were rigid and tense, telling the story of a short night and a pained mind. At first, Bilbo did not notice, but their glances met for an unbelievably long period of time, sending quick jolts up his spine. Whatever he saw in that face, it vanished as everyone sat down again and the man in the blue suit began to speak.

“Good morning dear staff, teachers and students. Most of you still know me, some of you I have taught myself, but I am grateful to see so many new faces and such a great number of new first and second graders among you…”

Bilbo stopped listening to him as he heard a voice from behind him, leaning forward to his ear. It was Peter Balin, the old Math teacher.

“Do you know who that is?” He whispered.

Bilbo silently shook his head, still looking at the speaker.

“Of course you don’t. That is Professor Durin, he is just back from his sabbatical year, he was our head master before Gandalf.”

Bilbo turned around, puzzled, they had never told him anything about the man that had filled Gandalf’s position before him.

“He’s returning now, Gandalf will be leaving next month.”

Well, wonderful, nobody had told him about that either – _why was he, for God’s sake –_ always the last one to know those things?

“I would like to thank Professor Gandalf of course, who has been both a great teacher and administrator of this school and of course Miss Abernathy, who did not only keep in touch with me during this last year, but also restlessly tried to make my return as smooth and easy as possible.”

Only now, Bilbo noticed that deep and calm voice of his. He did not much vary in his intonation and he did not smile or move. His speech was clear, filtered and did not hold many stylistic devices – but he made his point. He was glad to be back and looking forward to another challenging year at Erebor.

Bilbo could not help himself, but wonder, whether that was all to it. He still was a little upset about not knowing that Gandalf was going to leave and that – apparently had been the plan all along.

Professor Durin ended with the school motto, _Fides et Veritas_ , which was immediately repeated back at him before he received a calm applause from the students – too loud and long clapping was forbidden in the church.

Bilbo followed him with his eyes as he sat down again and watched Adams moving to the pulpit to read a psalm. The service was now coming to an end, only one song remained in the booklet and the small notion of a final prayer and blessing. Adams sent them away soon, wishing the students much success and luck and the teachers patience and wisdom. The service ended with a small prayer, read out by two older students, Susie Mitchell and William Armstrong, who both attended Bilbo’s Latin classes and were two of his best students, graduating next summer.

“Amen.” Everyone repeated back to them, before the usual chaos broke loose, some of the teachers trying to call the students to order but greatly failing. Class would not start until half past ten, giving everyone thirty minutes to find their classrooms and relax in the morning sun.

“What did you think of him?” Bofur asked as they both got up.

“Durin?”

“Yes.”

“Does he teach as well?”

“He teaches the Chemistry A-Levels, got his professor from Cambridge.”

Biblo nodded in reverence.

“He seemed… quite troubled.” He finally answered Henry’s initial question as they descended the stairs.

“He looked quite fine to me.” Henry grinned.

“I might be seeing ghosts.” Bilbo dismissed the issue with a smile as well, scratching his head.

“He’ a very bright man, he could have taught at his alma mater but he took over the school from his father ten years ago. The old man was suffering from Alzheimer’s.”

 _Great_ , Bilbo thought, _been working here for one year and I know practically nothing about the school._ He had actually thought he was informed quite well, but apparently he had not even the slightest idea about anything concerning the years prior to his arrival. He made a mental note to ask Peter later to tell him some more about the school, but for now he had to get to his classroom.

Bilbo made his way through the masses of students, assembling in the churchyard. He recognized some faces and some of his students waved at him when he passed them by. It was a splendid morning: the sun was warm on his face and only a light breeze toyed with the leaves that were slowly turning brown on the old oak trees. Erebor was a beautiful place, built in the 14th century by Archbishop Simon Paul Erebor who had established the school. More than twenty oak trees were planted in the near surroundings of the building symbolizing _the strength and love one would always received if one lived with faith and truth_ , many more scattered on the lawns surrounding the place. At first, Bilbo had found it kitschy. All those traditions and how seriously everybody seemed to treat them. But that had changed. They had all – every single one of them, welcomed him with open arms and open minds.

Bilbo used the East entrance; _the main hall must be filled with students now, no passing possible_ , he thought. It was wonderfully quite when he entered through the large gates and proceeded to his office. He had left his coat and bag there before the service. He would have to teach Latin now and carrying the books to the church and back would have been nonsense and looking at his statistic of falling and stumbling with his arms filled with books – thank you very much but he would rather walk the way twice than sending himself or anybody else to the hospital on the first day.  
He hadn’t been in his office for all summer and the place clearly needed dusting, but he liked it anyway. It was small and almost round with an old desk right in the middle in front of two windows. Shelves were installed on both sides, holding his history and language-teaching books along with some souvenirs he had gathered on his trips. The sun fell yellow upon his desk, dust slowly floating in its light. He smiled and crossed his arms looking at the scenery. They could have taken a photo and put it a magazine, he thought proudly and took his books.

When he locked his office from outside, he first didn’t notice the lanky figure to his left. He only saw him as he turned around, about to proceed to his classroom. It was a black haired man, standing in front of a showcase, his hands in his pockets, wearing not only a black suit but also a black shirt. If he was a teacher, Bilbo did not know him and he did not look like one of the non-teaching staff.

“Excuse me,” Bilbo approached him, “the access is prohibited for unauthorized individuals.”

He first did not receive an answer. The stranger just looked at him with a cold glare and no expression in his face. Only when Bilbo stood less than two meters apart from him he turned around, scrutinizing the short man.

“My daughter goes to school here; I just dropped her off and wanted to look around for a second.” His voice was high and clean, cutting almost, just like his cold eyes. Bilbo swallowed some air and took a deep breath.

“Well, even for parents this wing is actually not accessible when not accompanied by a member of staff.” Bilbo nervously recited the school’s policy.

Something about this man made him feel uncomfortable, almost nauseous. He could hardly be a father, the service had started long before half past nine and all students were required to take part. So if he had not been sneaking around school for the last hour, he had surely not dropped off a child.

“Now then I am glad I found you.” His smile was false and stingy; his teeth were blindingly white and sharp.

Bilbo adjusted the books under his arm, clearing his throat.

“I will have to go to my class now; can I help you with anything?”

“Oh yes,” the strange man said again in his high voice, presenting Bilbo with another poisonous smile, “I was looking for Professor Durin’s office. Would it be too much to ask you to get me there?” Bilbo looked at his watch. He had been told that Gandalf did not use the regular office of the head master but nobody had ever told him, _Bilbo sighed inwardly about not knowing anything again_ , where the actual office was. He could have asked one of his colleagues though; Henry Bofur’s classroom was just around the corner. But it wasn’t his lack of knowledge that prevented him from helping the stranger – it was the stingy feeling in his guts and is unwillingness to look at the man for another minute.

“I’m afraid I am not sure where exactly that is, but can get you to the secretary’s office,” he offered.

His opposite did again not show any hint about his thoughts, only stared at Bilbo.

“Yes, of course.” He answered eventually and made a gesture, showing that he would follow the teacher.

Bilbo did not feel well about having the man to his back. He could feel his icy glare in his neck and heard his soft – much too soft – steps behind him. His palms were sweaty by now and the books under his arm felt strangely heavy. He could not wait to drop him off at the office, leaving him to Janine and Dirk, the secretaries that could even scare off James Dwalin, the soccer coach with the many muscles who could probably easily lift a car.

He was relieved when the door finally came into eyesight and he turned around to his follower.

“Here we are. Have a nice day,” Bilbo managed to get out and nodded.

“Of course,” the stranger replied.

Only now Bilbo realized what had stayed undetected by him until this moment. It was his eyes. They were light brown, almost orange like those of a cat or a reptile, glowing and poisonous. The stranger’s mouth was bent upwards, showing him a creepy smile. It sent the second jolt of the day up his spine and Bilbo hurried away from the office, not looking back. He did not see that the man never entered it, but looked at him before he turned around, walking back into the same direction they had come from.

Bilbo only eased when he finally opened the door to his classroom. He was about 10 minutes too late, but thankfully his assistant Aaron Ori had busied the class with the translation of a simple text. They all looked up as they saw him enter. It was a third year, most of them being around the age of fifteen.

“Good morning everyone.” He said, slightly out of breath.

“Good Morning.” The class answered back at him.

He proceeded with reading out a list with their names, checking if everyone was there. He knew most of them, he had taught them last year as well and the classes at Erebor never changed much since the application was only open to first years. Once in a while, someone left the school or a student transferred with the special admission of the headmaster. One of the girls was new though; her parents had moved to Leeds in the summer and had found a way to send her to Erebor. Bilbo was almost at the end of his list, when he saw, that someone had added a name to it, written in blue ink and a beautiful handwriting.

“Who is… Fili Durin?” He had to pronounce the name to realize that his student shared the name of the new/old head master. As he looked up into the room, a blonde boy in the last row raised his arm. _He somehow looks tired_ , was the first thing that ever crossed Bilbo’s mind.

“Welcome to the class you too then.” He smiled, hoping the boy would return it, but he only nodded, taking down his arm again.

Bilbo’s first reflex was to ask him where he came from and to introduce himself, but it hardly seemed fitting. The other teenagers had probably noticed his name and made the connection anyway.

“Now, why don’t we start with that text Mister Ori had you translate, anybody willing to read out it for us?”

  
The class did not last much longer after that and all they barely managed to translate the first lines of the text. As the loud and familiar school bell rang, all students hastily packed their bags – all of them but Fili. Bilbo watched him from his table as he slowly got up and looked out of the window. The boy with the curly, blonde hair was the last one to pack his book and pencils.

“Is everything alright, Fili?” Bilbo asked as the boy seemed to be caught by something outside the window.

“Yes, sir. I am sorry for making you wait here so long.”

Bilbo shook his head.

“It’s alright, don’t worry.”

Fili nodded and looked at his bag again, packing his last belongings until he left. Bilbo watched him walk out of his class room with a concerned look on his face.

“Poor boy,” Aaron said as he came back into the classroom, he had left it earlier to get them tea.

“How so?” Bilbo asked.

“The mother died in an accident, he and his little brother now live with Professor Durin.”

Bilbo had to swallow and take a deep breath afterwards. He pitched his nose with his thumb and index finger as if he wanted to ease a headache.

“Is that the reason he took the sabbatical year?” He asked Ori eventually with a pained voice.

“Yes, yes. It was a lot for him too. Their mother was his sister and only living relative after his father’s death.”

“The old Durin is dead?” Bilbo asked, taking a sip form his tea.

“Yes, he had Alzheimer’s and died in 2010.”

“Terrible.” Bilbo answered, his glare drifting out of the window and into the gardens. He had never known his father and his mother had passed away when he had just finished his master’s degree. He had been in his mid-twenties then, far older than Fili and however old his little brother was. Bilbo still had some cousins and an aunt that were living in Belfast. He did not talk to them very frequently, but at least he had someone.

“In the end, we all become orphans, don’t we?” Aaron sighed before he left, taking the tea tray with him.

 _Oh my, this year was already starting brilliantly._ Bilbo frowned. His mood did not lighten much during his next lesson. He hardly knew anything about Professor Durin or his nephews; he hadn’t even seen the younger one yet. But somehow – and he could not tell why – their fate touched him and left him wondering about them for the rest of his morning classes.

  
When he entered the staff lounge at lunchtime. It was already filled with the other teachers and the usual, pleasant noise of business and commotion. He had stayed in his class room for a little longer, cleaning the board and putting a new calendar on the wall. Right as he entered the staff room now, he bumped into someone who seemed to be leaving again already. It didn’t hurt much, but it was rather unpleasant, especially when he saw that it was Professor Durin he had involuntarily chosen as his victim.

The whole room behind them fell silent at once.

“I am, so, so sorry!” Bilbo stammered, looking to the ground, checking whether his opposite had dropped anything.

“It’s fine, don’t worry!” He said with a calm but cold voice, “Are you alright?”

“No, no,” Bilbo answered.

Only now the head master looked at him.

“You must be Mister Baggins, the teacher Gandalf hired last year to replace Dr. Hibbenhaus,” there was nothing warm in his voice.

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo said, as if that was the only thing in his world pool.

“Good to meet you finally,” he shook Bilbo’s hand, “I would like to talk to you later today – I saw your last class ends at 3:15.”

“Yes – it does,” well, at least he had managed a slight variation.

“I’ll wait for you at my office then.” He nodded and did not wait for Bilbo to reply. Instead he passed him by and left without another word. Bilbo stood, completely ossified where the professor had left him, listening to the echo of his heavy, leaving steps outside. _Great introduction, truly wonderful first impression Bilbo_ , he thought before he finally found his chair and sat down to eat.

“So, you’ve met him then.” Bofur joked from opposite to Bilbo. Of course he had seen, practically everyone had seen.

“That is **not** funny,” Bilbo threatened him with his spoon. Of course it was though, at least for everyone else that had not made such a memorable introduction.

“My dear Bilbo,” Gandalf laughed, just as the others, sitting around them, “where is your sense of humor?”

“Someone could at least have told me that you would leave again,” a young woman from the kitchen staff gave him a plate with soup.

“I thought that had been clear from day one – I only filled a vacant position, Thorin was going to come back after this year.”

“Why do these things always seem to be clear to everyone and nobody tells me then?” Bilbo shook his head in anticipation as his voice grew high and higher.

“I am very sorry if I did not make myself clear to you when I offered you this job,” Gandalf smirked in his usual, innocent way and Bilbo let it be; listening to the stories of his colleagues. A student in Henry’s class had already vomited into his bag and Dwalin was, for the first time, training a girls’ soccer team which seemed to challenge him beyond measure.

However awkward it had begun, their lunch was pleasant as ever and most of all distracting Bilbo from both thinking about the Durins and feeling awkward about his crash. Yet again he realized how much he had truely missed his colleagues, his friends and how warm and protective the walls of Erebor surrounded every entrant.

“We should have a barbecue again soon,” Bofur had told him when he was leaving, a bright smile on his face, a gesture filled with optimism.

“Yes, of course!” Bilbo had answered, already looking forward to it. _They wouldn't get a chance to ever have it, but he hadn't known that back then._

Bilbo almost didn’t fathom how fast the day passed after Lunch. He only taught one more class in the afternoon, a first year of German students and that was when he also met Kili Durin, Professor Durin’s youngest nephew.  
He had expected another boy with short, blonde curls but Kili had dark, brown hair, a little longer and rather unkempt. Nis nose was small, which made him look just like his older brother and his eyes were bright blue. He had picked the precise chair Fili had sat in earlier today right last row, but he was more hanging in it than sitting properly like his classmates. He had his arms crossed all throughout the lesson, unwilling to even open his book. Only when Bilbo asked the children to copy some easy sentences and alter them according to their own name and age, he had the chance and walked down to Kili’s table.

“Hey,” he tried, casually taking a chair from the corner and sitting down opposite to him, “don’t you want to tell me your name and age?”

“My name is Kili Durin and I’m ten.”

“Wow, you’re pretty young for this year then. Do you know how to say that in German?”

“I don’t think I really care,” the boy replied back to him, playing with his pen.

“May I ask why? You know you could have started with French instead.”

“French is for losers.”

“For losers?”

“Yeah for people who’re not smart enough to learn German.”

“So you are smart enough to learn German?”

“Sure I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Kili gave him a startle look. He apparently did not hear that too often.

“If you want me to believe you are smart enough, prove it,” Bilbo smirked and opened Kili’s book.

Kili frowned and his face turned somewhat angry. He then crossed his arms even tighter and looked away from Bilbo, out of the window and into the sky, just as his brother had done.

Bilbo left him at that, going back to the rest of the class, having each of them read out what they had written. Some of them had already learned some words of German in elementary school and even expanded their short introduction. Kili, however, remained silent until the end of the class, looking through the window or counting the spots on the ceiling. He behaved just like his brother, remaining seated while his fellow classmates were already packing up – their first day was over now. As the class room had emptied and Bilbo checked some of his notes, Kili slowly began to shove the few things he had unpacked back into his bag and came to Bilbo’s desk.

“Gute Tag, Herr Baggins. Mein Name ist Kili Durin und ich bin zehn Jahre alt. Ich wohne bei meinem Onkel, Throin Durin, er ist siebenunddreißig Jahre alt. Ich habe auch einen großen Bruder, sein Name ist Fili und er ist vierzehn Jahre alt. Wollen Sie noch mehr wissen?“  
_[“Hello, Mister Baggins. My name is Kili Durin and I am tenyears old. I live with my uncle, Thorin Durin, he is thirty-seven years old. I also have an older brother, his name is Fili and he is fourteen years old. Do you want to hear any more?”]_

Bilbo grinned and gave Kili a sheet of paper.

“Nein danke, Kili. Das nächste Mal vielleicht ohne aufzumucken.“  
_[“No thank you, Kili. Next time try not to rebel that much.”]_

The sheet he gave his student with a smirk said in bold letters **“EXTRA TASKS”** and Kili groaned, taking it anyway but leaving the class room, granting his teacher not a single last look. Bilbo, however, smiled and packed his bag before he had Ori tidy the room.

On the way to Professor Durin’s office, he slowly felt his heart beating a little harder against his chest. The professor had not said why he wanted to speak with Bilbo and he actually needed some time to process the many events of the first day back: The many changes that were yet to come ( _he was not at all comfortable with changes_ ), Thorin – _Professor Durin_ in his blue suit, the stranger in the East Wing, crashing into the new head master and meeting same man's nephews. He should have asked one of the others about giving impositions to them, but now it was too late – especially when he saw Kili sitting at the far, right end of Thorin’s office, only a moment after he had knocked and entered.

It was a beautiful, narrow but long room, dark on the left and lighter on the right where a great, gothic window stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Professor Durin’s desk was on the left, where the room was almost round. Every wall was covered with high shelves, which were filled with all kinds of books, photographs and what seemed to be small sculptures or artifacts. Kili was sitting at a small table in front of the window on the righ, busy with something that seemed to be his phone. He looked up as Bilbo entered, but did not mind him any further. Only now, at second glance, Bilbo noticed the small rose window above the desk. It was simpler than the one in the church but not less beautiful. It did not let too much of the sun in, but along with a small lamp on the desk, it was light enough.

Professor Durin stood next to the window, behind Kili, when Bilbo closed the door.

“Kili, why don’t you start your homework at the library?” He ‘offered’ to his nephew.

Kili looked up at him, taking his bag and mobile and stood up wordlessly. He hit Bilbo’s leg with his bag when he passed him, not looking up or saying sorry. Bilbo could see that Thorin wanted to remark something, but he seemed to shrug it off then, taking a seat behind his desk and offering one of the chairs before it to Bilbo.

“Please, Mister Baggins, take a seat.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said sitting down.

Again, he was wondering what the professor had to discuss with him. It could hardly be primarily about Kili’s imposition – he had not given them to his nephew before the professor had asked him to come to his office after class.

“Gandalf hired you when he took over my position,” the professor stated eventually.

“That is correct,” Bilbo nodded.

Professor Durin sat still for a moment, looking at what Bilbo identified as his own resume. He started to feel a little nervous, he wasn't sure if any of this was some sort of standart procedure for his opposite or whether he had - their lunch-accident put aside - already missed his chance to make a good first impression. It took a whole until Professor Durin finally cleared his throat before he started speaking.

“I will be honest with you, I chose all the teachers working at this school myself and I was somewhat … surprised to meet you this morning.”

Bilbo’s heart started pounding again; he did not particularly like those kinds of situations. He had a five-year-contract, not even the head master could fire him on grounds of ‘not-being-the-one-who-gave-him-the-job’, but working under a man who was not especially fond of you was surely not the work environmant he was looking for.

“The surprise was mutual,” was the only answer he could think of and it seemed to have been the right one, because a small, chilly chuckle escaped the professor’s mouth. _Or did it?_ Bilbo wasn’t quite sure. The light was playing on his opposite's face, painting his face dark where it should be light and light where it should have been dark.

“No, I have been told it was,” he said then, looking at the paper again.

Did people never stop talking at this school? Bilbo felt somewhat fooled and pissed. _We are not a tabloid, are we?  
_

“I don’t know you,” the professor continued then, “but I’ve heard of your great expertise and work with our students. Two of your Latin A-Level participants won a price for their research last year, seven of them went to Oxbridge.”

Bilbo nodded, still feeling mildy uncomfortable and in the wrong place. He shifted in his chair, placing his hands on top of his knees. He was waiting for the _'but'_.

“This will be new for both of us then, but I look forward to working with you,” the professor offered eventually, reaching out to Bilbo with his right hand. It was cold and hard and not the least welcoming.

He did not really mean it – Bilbo could see it in his eyes. There was no actual anger or distrust in his eyes, but he wasn’t enthusiastic about his presence either.  
Bilbo did not let his troubled mind show when he shook his hand and arose, happy for it to be over. His heart was still beating uncontrolled as if it was to come right out of his ribcage. He was quite thankful that his hands were not sweaty – the professor would have felt it.

“You have a very nice office,” he said, taking one last look around. He meant it and he did not say it to smarm.

The professor did not answer but nodded instead, looking at the papers on his desk, while Bilbo was moving to the door.

“Have a good day,” Bilbo offered, before he closed the door behind him.

A “Yes,” was the only answer he received.

The hallway was cold and gloomy when he had closed the door. he was freezing and a kind of sadness filled him, disenchantment, maybe. He had looked forward to coming back to school all summer and while his first day had not been a complete catastrophe – it still left a foul taste in his mouth. He did not move for another minute, only slowly calming his heart again and breathing actually oxygen. Two strange men, both kicking him way out of his comfort zone, were just too much for him in one day. He rose his right index finger, made a gesture to himself and left then, not turning around again.

 

When he came home that night, he sat down in his armchair, and switched on Bach’s Cello Suits before he poured himself a glass of ice-cold water. He had quit drinking a long time ago after a horrible night at a pub and an even more horrible morning, otherwise he would have turned to a strong whiskey.  
He fell asleep in the chair around ten, when the music began playing anew. He did not dream of anything first, until a pair of cold, blue eyes entered his mind and a deep, low voice repeated the words the professor had addressed to the students in the morning. The only thing Bilbo remembered when he woke up though was the pain had seen in those eyes at the morning in the church.

His heart was racing – _again, for God’s sake, he was surely going to die of a heart attack sometime soon_ – when he opened his eyes and starred out of his window into the dark.

 _He has lost his sister, it’s his first day back and you’re a stranger to him_ , he tried to ease his mind. _Of course it makes him feel uncomfortable_.

He got up then and when he went to bed, he hadn’t found any solution to his situation. There probably was none. He felt like being part of a cheesy prime-time soap-opera, when he told himself that he would make the professor appreciate his presence and teaching – and maybe eventually he would actually come to like him and it would all work out… somehow in some… way.

He slapped himself for that though, _you’re a pathetic, small man_ , he thought to himself and switched the light in the living room off, before he closed his eyes.

His heart felt a little lighter then. _Fides et Veritas,_ Faith and Truth, were the last words he thought of before he fell asleep.  
And they somehow gave him hope it would all fall into place eventually.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Erebor School Song's melody can be found [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IxGyE2i0hyc) and if you want to find me on tumblr, you go [here](http://little-magnolie.tumblr.com/) :)  
> Thank you for reading and tell me what you thought of it!


	2. Chapter 2

 

It was already afternoon when Bilbo knocked on Lily’s door. He had been teaching all morning and was incredibly busy with correcting a translation he had collected from his students for grading. It was only the second week of school, but Bilbo had already experienced that his students worked harder and more carefully if they realized right in the beginning, that he liked to grade an assignment now and then. Most of what he had seen so far was splendid, probably worth an A anyway. To be admitted to the school, an average of an A- or better was required; in some special cases a B+ would be enough to receive a positive review, but that were exceptions.   
Consequently, most of Erebor’s students would later attend Oxbridge, the London School of Economics, Saint Andrews in Scotland or the University of Edinburgh and would therefore not simply fail an ordinary homework. Bilbo was quite content with most his students, especially in Latin. He only taught an A-Level and a third year. For German, however, he saw four different years, ranging from the first year until another A-Level. All of his students were great – _well most of them were_ – the only two that were still an unsolved puzzle to him were Kili and Fili Durin.  
While the older one would usually sit during Bilbo’s classes in silence – either not moving at all or scribbling something in his notebook ( _Bilbo had never had the chance to see any of it, although he had tried_ ), Kili would sit in his chair, arms crossed and obviously disinterested, now and then even disturbing Bilbo.

He did not like to admit, but the fact that they were Professor Durin’s nephews did make him insecure about their treatment. He had given extra tasks to Kili whenever his behaviour had turned unacceptable, but of course he couldn’t actually upbraid Fili since the boy seemed to know anything and everything when Bilbo woke him from his day dreams even if he did not look as if he was listening. But it had made Bilbo wonder, about the professor and his nephews and about what had actually happened prior to Bilbo’s arrival. And then – of course – he had tried to Google the school to find out more about its history and the old headmaster, Thorin’s father. It had turned out, that besides a picture of every teacher, next to a short curriculum vitae, only a simplistic obituary was still saved in the website’s archive. It didn’t even contain a photograph of Thrain Durin, only a short, plain text beneath a crucifix: _much beloved father and colleague will greatly be missed, gone too soon_ and a short psalm. There was not a single entry about Thorin’s leave or Gandalf.

It bothered him more and more, not knowing anything about the recent history of the school, apparently being the only one among the staff. Lily was not exactly known for being a chatterbox, but he did not want to ask Bofur or Balin and Aaron had come to the school even after Bilbo. So after two weeks of uncertainty and doubt, always being afraid of dropping a brick (or worse) he had finally gathered enough courage to ask Lily Abernathy for a cup of tea and some advice in her office.

“Come in!” she fluted when she heard him knock.

Bilbo opened the door and was immediately greeted by the friendly woofing of Lily’s Pomeranian Zelda. _Always a little in love with the Lost Generation_ , Bilbo thought and gently petted the little, white bundle that almost stormed out of the door.

“Don’t treat her too much or she’ll not let you leave!”

Lily was in her early thirties, American, born somewhere in North Carolina and had moved to Britain at age twenty-three. She had half-long, brown hair but often wore wide hair bands or bows on top of her head. They were exquisite and extremely beautiful. She either had them custom made or bought them in London in a small shop that only opened after calling. She seemed to spend most of her wage on them, but Bilbo had been told that her parents came from old, Southern money, so she probably didn’t have to worry about expensive hair accessories anyway.

“Nah – she’s perfect, aren’t you?” Bilbo petted Zelda one last time, the small dog obviously enjoying it and jumping on his lap as soon as he had set down in his chair.

“She’s neva gonna let’che go,” Lily laughed and poured Bilbo a cup of tea.

“My flat is big enough and I’m sure my next class will love her too.”

“She’s a beast ‘round children, believe me,” she smirked and opened a bottle of soda, warm drinks did not exactly float her boat so much, she had told him once during a conference in the staff room, when they had all drunken tea and she had been the only one to prefer water. _You apparently could only get so English_ , he had thought then and laughed.

“What can I do for you? I might need to tell you that I’m not the best to consult about any love-related issues,” she took a sip from her soda and Bilbo let out a short, somewhat amused huff.

“No, no don’t worry; I’m not here about anything … _love-related_ as you put it so beautifully,” Bilbo shifted in his chair, trying to hide a boyish, awkward smile. It had been a while since he had needed advice on that topic.

“What is it then?” She asked, not being able to ignore his indisposition.

Bilbo took a deep breath.

“You know, especially since Professor Durin is ‘back’, I’ve found myself to be repeatedly in suspense. I know nothing about this school. Well, I know that it was built  
by Bishop Erebor and that back in the – _what?_ 14 th century? – it was a boys’ school until girls were admitted in 1946. But that’s it. I didn’t even know anything about Thrain Durin or that Professor Durin took over from his father…”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s not really much,” she said and fed herself with a small piece of chocolate before she offered the same to Bilbo, who refused it thankfully.

“After the World War II, Thror Durin became the principal of Erebor – that was Thorin’s, _Professor Durin’s_ , grandfather. He was a great teacher and even admitted girls to the school, _just as you’ve said_ – but as time passed he got sick,” she let out a silent breath, “back then science wasn’t that advanced as it is today. Nobody knew what it was, but it got him sick. He obsessed with his research, something about air or water, _I’m not sure_ , he turned manic and depressive and kept forgetting things. Anyway,” _she took another sip from the can_ , “they pretty much didn’t know what to do with him, treatment-wise I mean, and then he died in… _I’m not sure_ maybe in the early eighties. Thorin’s father took over then, _same story,_ great teacher and researcher, he wanted to make the school an all-boys academy again but then his daughter was born, that was Dis– _oh,_ Bilbo, “she leant forward, “you would have loved her! She was kind and wonderful and lovely!”

“Dis, you say? Is that Professor Durin's sister then?”

“Yes,” Lily continued, “he wanted her to have the chance to go to Erebor, so he didn’t close the school for girls, but whatever got his father also got him. He wanted to continue his father’s research the stuff with the,” she moved her hands, looking for the right words, “ _water… and air… and whatever_ , chemistry, I dunno- anyway,” _that seemed to be her favorite word_ , Bilbo thought, “he got sick as well. They diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s but you know, I’ve seen people with Alzheimer’s and that wasn’t Alzheimer’s, not from what people told me. He died, like, I think 15 years ago, and first there were some other principals but when Thorin got his professor’s degree, he was offered the job and he took it.” Lily smiled, “and that’s pretty much all to it. _As I said_ , not such a long story.”

“Why did nobody ever tell me until now?”

“I dunno, it’s not that important I guess. I think Peter Balin’s pretty much the only one who’s already worked here during Thror’s ‘reign’,” She showed him a half smile.

Bilbo still didn’t understand why he had never heard the story, but it seemed to be irrelevant now that he knew.

“What about Dis then?”

“Well Dis… _oh Dis_ ,” she hummed and pinched her nose, “that’s a horrible thing.”

Lily played with the can in her hand for a while, rolling it back and forth between her palms and observing how the light made the shades darker and softer. Her face was troubled then, and sad.

“Thorin and Dis had another brother, Frerin, lovely little boy. He died only a few years after their father. _Leukemia_. It was pretty bad. Dis moved to France with the boys and then to Austria.”

“Is that why Kili’s German is so good?”

“I have no idea, I’ve never heard the boy speak anything but English.” She hiked her shoulders.

“They lived in Vienna, and then Salzburg. Only for the last two years before her death they were back in England. I think they had a house in Manchester or Sheffield, I’m not sure.”

Lily fell silent for a moment. It was as if she did not want to tell the end of the story, hoping it would turn out to have never happened, would she just not pronounce it.

“How did she die?” Bilbo’s heart was pounding as he softly leaned forward, Zelda still quiet in his lap, and took Lily’s hand.

“Her plane crashed. That’s all I know, somewhere in spring last year. Thorin got her sons within a week and at first everyone was pretty content it would all work out quite well, but it was a hard time for all three of them, _you know_? He decided to pause for a year, take some time for the boys and sort stuff out. That’s when he found Gandalf and Gandalf found you and here we are today,” she ended, shrugging and showing him the better half of a sad smile.

Bilbo didn’t know what to say. His head was empty. What was there to say? All words seemed to be futile and insidious upon the death of a loved-one. All of a sudden he felt cold and heavy, Zelda providing the only source of warmth in his lap. He found himself, suddenly reminded of his mother’s death and how he had wanted to visit her at the hospital on Monday, and then on Tuesday and then on Wednesday and when he had finally gone there on Thursday afternoon with a spray of fresh, orange gerbera and chrysanthemums, they had told him that she had died in the morning. Even today, every time he saw orange gerbera, he felt guilt taking over his mind. She had waited for him to come to visit her, but he had been too busy. He had never been able to say goodbye and that was his own fault. No one should have to experience the fatigue, self-reproaches and aggression he had felt, not even his worst enemy, let alone the Durins.

He almost missed it when Lily started to speak again, but she patted his hand and leant back in her chair: “That was last year. He looked alright to me. I think he went to therapy or something, must have helped somehow.”

The temperature rose a little.

“He looked… troubled during the first service,” Bilbo calmly dissented, petting Zelda.

“Yes, sure he did, we’d been ‘ere for like… three hours preparing everything with pastor Adams. ‘Course he looked tired.” She grinned now.

Bilbo simply nodded. He would not forget the glace they had shared back at the church. His face had been tired, _yes_ , but that had not been all to it. His features had been so tensed, Bilbo had thought they would seize any second.

“He’s fine. Of course it’s probably still hurting but he’s doing good. I just spoke to him yesterday. The school’s keeping him occupied and he’s doing perfectly fine.”

And there it was again. Lily’s unbelievable, all-American, optimistic smile, wide on her face as if it had never been wiped out.

“You know him better.” Bilbo agreed, nodding falsely. He would soon have to leave for his last class with the Latin A-Levels and he didn’t want to waste any more of Lily’s time.

“He’s a good one, Bilbo. Don’t you worry,” she assured him again, her glance deviating to the clock on the wall. It was almost three.

“I won’t, I promise,” Bilbo gently sat Zelda on the other chair, but the little dog had somehow fallen asleep already and didn’t move much when Lily accompanied him to the door.

“Keep your head up, Bilbo, Thorin’s a toughie.”

“A what?” Bilbo had to chuckle and released a surprised puff of air.

“I think the correct translation is _facer_. He’s not so easy to get to handle, but he’s brilliant and loyal once you get to know him.”

“Well it’s not as if I was trying to get friends with him, he’s just my boss,” Bilbo lied – _lied?_

“You’re worrying pretty much for someone you don’t care about.” Lilly smirked.

Bilbo thought about replying something to her, but he didn’t, he didn’t have anything to say anyway and another word would have only made her make another remark, this time surely more cheeky and delicate probably, so he silently hugged her with one arm and she patted his back before he left into the direction of his office to pick up Ovid. He had just walked a few steps when he noticed that he had not consulted Lily about the treatment of Fili and Kili. He spun around on his heel, ready to walk back to her office, but he was actually late already and turned around, once again, a little annoyed and finally walking towards the stairs.  
  
He did not get very far though. Lily’s office was on the first floor and the staircase ended where most of the science classrooms and auditoriums were. Bilbo did not notice them much, he did not teach science and mostly he just walked past them every time he went back and forth between the first floor and his office. However, when he descended the stairs that afternoon, he already heard somebody’s swearing from afar, accompanied by muffled noises and loud battering.  
As he walked around the corner, he was taken by surprise. The Professor seemed to be observing the lock of a door in squatting position and moaned. Bilbo saw how he went through his hair with his right hand, still cursing and with an angry face. Bilbo frowned. _What in God’s name was he doing there?_

“Is everything alright?”

He slowly approached the door. At first he did not get an answer, the professor did not even seem to have noticed him, now pulling a key band out of his pockets. Bilbo cleared his throat and slowly closed the distance to Thorin, inwardly moaning because Lily had said his name so often, he had to be careful not to call him like that.

“ _Professor Durin_ , is everything alright?” He tried again.

Only now the professor turned around and saw him.

“The door won’t open,” he hissed and tried one key after another.

Bilbo looked up from the Professor to the door and the sign next to it.

“Is that the repository?”

“Yes,” Durin hissed again, not looking at Bilbo this time but still busy with the keys.

“You can try as many keys as you want, but I’m afraid that door won’t open,” Bilbo calmly said and tried a smile. He must have caught his attention then, because the Professor stood up and looked at him, finally.

“And why would that be?” He groaned exasperatedly.

“New regulations, the locks were exchanged last October and as far as I know they only made one key. You can get it at the office if you need it for the day,” Bilbo looked at his watch, “but Janine and Dirk will be off by now.”

“Grand,” Thorin rolled his eyes and put his thumbs on his eyes, silently groaning yet again.

“Why do you need to get in there?”

“I need nitric acid and aluminum sulphate for my class,” Thorin answered, looking angrily at the locked door that must have had opened the last time he had needed anything from the repository.

Bilbo looked down the hallway to the great windows at the other end, trying to remember if somebody else had that key, but he couldn’t think of anybody. _He really was the most uninformed person at this school_ , he noticed again and let out a disappointed puff of air. _That was when a thought struck him_. Once, right after he had started his work here, he had been talking to Gandalf while he was going though the repository, looking for what seemed to be a rare earth or some powder – Bilbo had close no insight into chemistry, he wasn’t even able to give a correct chemical equation – but Gandalf had not used this door, neither had he picked up the key from the office that day.

“Do you by any chance have a key for the Curie-Auditorium?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes, why?” Thorin replied.

“You can access the repository through there too, the door seems to be locked, but it’s just a little stuck and heavy to move.”

Thorin’s face lit up a little.

“Are you sure?”

“Well we can always try of course,” Bilbo offered, walking past Throin to the next door.

In the 1980s, the room had been completely renovated and later called the Curie-Auditorium just as they had a Heisenberg-Auditorium and an Einstein-Auditorium. All three rooms were used for both chemistry and physics classes, the interior being at stand-of-the-art and not even two years old.

The Curie-Autditorium was filled with pictures, posters and memories of Marie Curie, the school had even acquired some of her (radiation-free) breadboard constructions that were now exhibited in two long showcases. They walked by them quickly, however, approaching the door behind the rows of seats. It was old and wooden and, just as Bilbo said, it stuck at first but when they both leant against it, it gave way easily.

“You are quite a _burglar_ , Mister Baggins,” Thorin chuckled as the open room lay before them.

The repository was a kind of archive, long rows of shelves holding thousands of chemical substances, rocks and preserved plants, animals and parts of human bodies. _A downright chamber of horrors_ , Bilbo had thought the first time he had walked through here; furiously talking to Gandalf about … he couldn’t remember _what_ about. But now – with that the lazy afternoon sun breaking through the old shutters and dust dancing in the light – it had lost all creepiness and horror.

He waited for the professor at the door, keeping it open. Thorin quickly disappeared between two shelves right in the back, apparently still knowing the repository so well, that he could easily orient himself.  
When he came back, he held a small bottle and an even smaller can in his hands.

“Found what you were looking for?” Bilbo asked with a friendly smile.

“Yes, I have,” Thorin answered, nodding and looking over his shoulder back into the room.

“Then let’s close this again,” Bilbo suggested and Thorin moved back in the auditorium before Bilbo let the door snap shut.

“I’ll have to hurry now, thank you, it seems there are still a few things hidden from me at this place,” the professor admitted and in the warm light that softly imbued the auditorium, he almost looked as if he was genuinely smiling. Bilbo had not that much of an opportunity to wonder about it, because the moment was over all too soon, when Thorin turned around and walked through the door into the hallway. Bilbo stood there for another while, frozen and listening to the sounds of Thorin’s steps disappearing in the distance, although he didn’t exactly know why.

He finally found himself again, clenched his fingers and cleared his throat, turning on his spot into the direction of the door. He raised his right index finger as he remembered that he had to be at his class room in … 5 MINUTES!? _Of course, brilliant, now he was going to be too late, so that was what wondering about Thorin Durin actually got him_ , he thought, storming out of the auditorium, letting the door shut behind him and cursing about himself. Only now he felt his heart pounding against his chest, and it wasn’t for his speed.

He was too late, of course, but his class was dutifully waiting for him in the hallway, greeting him warmly as he approached them.

He liked working with this class. Some of them had attended his Latin classes last year as well and he knew of at least two of them that had applied for the Classical Literature or Language programs at Oxford. During class, they mainly sat on the tables in a circle, legs lazily dangling from the edge of the table. There were twelve of them all in all, three girls and nine boys, all extremely well educated and behaved as well as interested. He had come to know that in the beginning the children were mostly pushed by their parents, most of them slowly starting to develop patterns of self-motivation until most of them were ideal students at age sixteen. There were exceptions, of course. Exceptions like Kili and Fili or Leo Goldman, the rather silent boy with the long hair that did not seem to have many ambitions beyond passing his final exams.

Bilbo almost didn’t notice how it started to pour down outside, when they all sat on the tables, reading _The Metamorphosis_ in allotted characters and talking about the rhetorical devices. There were no words to describe how much he like this, especially compared to his students in Brighton, that, the moment they entered his flat, could not wait for the moment they were allowed to leave it again.

“… and that is simply beautiful!” He looked up into the round. Susie had just ended her deliberations, eagerly looking at Bilbo.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right; does anyone want to add anything to this?” He asked them, but they were all shaking their heads.

“Well there is not much to add to this, not even from my side.”

The all chuckled and Bilbo looked at his watch.

“Looks like we’re done for today anyway ladies and gentlemen, you know what to do for homework and I’ll see you tomorrow then!” He smiled widely and the students started knocking on their tables, a small gesture of appreciation that was usual from the fourth year on. Some teachers still waited for a joint _Fides et Veritas_ after they had ended, but Bilbo felt more comfortable with the knocking.

He looked out of the window then, his students leaving the room behind him. It had stopped raining, but the wide, muddy puddles on the grass outside gave it away. Bilbo let himself sink on his elbows for a moment, almost pressing his nose to the cold glass that slowly fogged under his warm breath and looking at the distant oak trees in the meadow. He began to wonder. How many sunny days would still be granted to them, until autumn would start?

He decided not to fall into a melancholic silence now – he had a French turkey in his fridge, waiting for him to be stuffed and neatly be braised in his stove. He could still get melancholic at home.

It was crisp outside now and the gravelled path, leading to the car park, was stained with water, almost flooded. _Cloudburst_ , Bilbo thought as he tried to evade the many puddles, he was wearing his best shoes – _of course_ , gent’s shoes he had bought in Milan on his trip home in the summer. _These things only ever happened to him_ , he cursed, opening his car.

He only looked at the school again through the wing-mirror, watching it disappear, tall and dark between the hills and trees in the distance beneath the grey sky.  
He absentmindedly turned on the radio, switching between different channels until he had found one that played classical music – he _loved_ classical music and hummed along _The Moldau_ ; so at first he wasn’t sure about what it was he saw maybe half a mile before him on the road. It could have been anything, _really_ , maybe a horse, although when he gave it another thought – _what would a horse do alone on a road?_ – So _no horse_ but it could have really been anything else and he only realized what – _or more exactly who_ – it was once he drove by him slowly.

“Kili? What are you _doing_ out here?” He opened the front side window.

“Nuffin.” The boy replied not stopping and making Bilbo keep driving next to him on the rocky, wet road.

“Well, you seem to be breathing and walking,” Bilbo joked.

“There you have your answer,” Kili said colourlessly.

“Kili, does your uncle know you’re walking home?”

It wasn’t usual that the children walked home. Erebor lay almost exactly in between Leeds and York, twenty minutes by car in both directions. The students were either picked up by their parents or took the intercity coach until they were old enough to drive their own cars. The road was too long and unsecured for anyone to walk it.

But Kili didn’t answer his question.

“Did you tell your _brother_?”

He shook his head.

“Did you send your uncle a text or leave a note?”

“On his bloody desk,” he hissed.

“How long have you been walking?” Bilbo tried, “it’s pretty cold and muddy.”

Kili only shrugged his shoulders.

“I take it you’re living in York too then.”

No response from Kili.

“You _know_ how far you still have to walk until you reach York?”

Kili mulishly continued walking and only now Bilbo saw that he looked sulky and somewhat angry.

“It’s about an hour of walking still and you will be manky and completely chilled to the bone when you come home.”

“So what?”

“C’mon, send you uncle a text message, I’m taking you to Betty’s, he can pick you up there.”

“Betty’s?” he ask and for once – _finally! Bilbo thanked the Lord_ – Kili stopped and looked at him through the side window.

“Betty’s Imperial Tea Room. It’s gorgeous and you can have some cake while we wait for your uncle, how does that sound to you?”

Kili seemed to consider walking on for a moment. But then Bilbo saw how he pulled out his phone and started typing something, just as Bilbo had suggested. _Apparently the cake had convinced him._ Kili’s boots were all muddy and grubby as he climbed into the passenger seat, but surprisingly it didn’t bother Bilbo that much. He was just glad that it had been him to find Kili; stories about children disappearing from open roads were on the telly all the time and he didn’t even want to think about it for another minute.

Kili didn’t look at him when Bilbo started the engines again. He was too small to look out of the window but he had turned his head, eyes tiredly focused on something on the instrument panel.

“Hard day at school?” Bilbo tried again.

“Hm.”

“Did you forget something at home?”

“No.”

_Now, this conversation was going to be extremely entertaining._

Bilbo spent the next five minutes looking back and forth between Kili and the road.

“Woher kannst du so gut Deutsch?”  
[ _“How come your German’s so well?”]_

Apparently he had finally caught Kili’s attention, because the boy cautiously turned his head towards Bilbo.

“Habs aufgeschnappt.”  
[ _“Overheard it.”]_

“But you haven’t been to Betty’s yet?” Bilbo chuckled and put on a playful smile.

“Uncle Thorin’s not that big on cake,” he sighed.

 

They made quite a peculiar couple as they walked into Betty’s. Bilbo in his cardigan and brown coat, hair combed and neatly trimmed, a leather bag in his arms, Kili in his muddy shoes and dripping jacket, looking more like a vagabond than an attendant of Erebor School.  
Bilbo was utterly happy when a young waiter invited them to sit a table close to the door (instead of asking them to leave) and took their order – a hot chocolate with whipped crème and one without, _Bilbo was still trying to lose these pounds he had gained in the summer_.

Kili looked visibly less frozen and his mood seemed to have lightened a little, especially when his hot chocolate arrived and he tackled it greedily. Bilbo had to chuckle at the view, taking a sip from his own cup.

“ _Now_ , why did you want to walk home?” Bilbo tried again, with a soft voice, prepared for another period of silence and all he actually got from Kili was another shrug. It took the boy a while, or more precisely half of his hot chocolate to start talking.

“I got into a fight with Billy.”

“Billy Houlding?” Bilbo knew the boy; he sat in the front row of his first year German class, just as Kili.

“He started it!” Kili raised his voice a little, “and then he took my book and he wouldn’t give it back and then I threw his bag into his face.”

“You threw his bag into his face? _Why?_ ” Bilbo let out a short laughter.

“So he’d give it back, of course!” Kili crossed his arms, sinking back into his chair. A few women form the table next to them had turned around, eyeing them curiously. The room was filled with muffled noises and quiet talking, but Kili had managed to drown it all, if not by great extend.

“But why would you throw a bag into his face?” Bilbo grinned.

“It was the only thing I could get my hands on…” Kili muttered meekly.

“You know that we don’t throw bags _or any other things_ at our classmates, do you?”

“And what about stealing from our classmates?” Kili’s voice grew louder again and he rose from his chair.

“That’s no reason to hurt someone, _Kili_ , you could have told your teacher or me, throwing that bag into his face doesn’t make you any better than him.”

“But…” Kili seemed to be looking for words or arguments, though not able to find them. He sank into the chair again.

“Did you hurt him a lot?”

“No, but he hit me back with my book and then we started fighting.”

“Did he hurt you then?”

Kili didn’t answer, but his hand shoot up to his head automatically, the hit with the book must have been hurtful.

“I’m sorry Kili.” Bilbo managed to murmur and frowned.

The boy nodded and took another sip form his cup.

“And how did you decide to walk home then?”

Bilbo didn’t need to wait for an answer. He had not even really finished when Kili’s eyes turned big and he sat up straight, almost frozen in fear. When Bilbo turned around, he saw the reason for Kili’s jar.

Professor Durin was still looking around, trying to find them in the room.

“Now don’t panic, it’s going to be fine.” Bilbo said, turning back at Kili for a moment before and he raised his hand, waving to Thorin. Once the professor saw him, he approached them with fast, long strides. Bilbo could see anger in his face, but also, and if only for a tiny moment, _concern and relief_.

“Kili, _in God’s name what possessed you_?”

Bilbo had hoped they could silently leave the café, talk about it outside on the street or in the car, but Thorin’s voice was load, almost roaring and it took a mere second until they had the attention of the entire room.

“What were you _thinking_? You _bandy_ with classmate and then you just… run away?”

“None of your business,” Kili hissed, crossing his arms.

“It **IS** my business, Kili, won’t you understand, I’m your legal guardian,” Thorin replied with a loud and stern voice, visibly enraged – but Bilbo could see that that had not been the choice of words Thorin had wanted to pick.

“Yes, that’s all you _ever_ are.” Kili muttered and put his feet on the chair, making it all dirty, although he did not seem to care very much.

They fell silent then. Thorin, looking almost taken aback, Kili still angry at him and not rewarding his uncle with a single look. It must have stung Thorin, just as it had stung the boy. _One should think that they had managed to bond at least a little over the dead of their mother_ , Bilbo thought to himself. He had not assumed that it was all going perfectly well and that they were playing happy family at home, but this startled him. Thorin seemed to be looking for words then, or a sentence to answer to Kili, but when he couldn’t find any, he eventually turned to Bilbo.

“And what about _you_?”

“I was driving home when I saw him walking on the street so I thought it might be better to take him to the city,” Bilbo answered calmly, hoping it would reduce the tension in the room, although it didn’t.

“Why didn’t you turn around and bring him back to the school?” Thorin’s voice was still stern and angry but he had managed to not yell anymore.

“I –” was the only thing Bilbo could say before he was interrupted.

“He only helped me!” Kili jumped to his feet, almost spilling the rest of the hot chocolate in his cup.  Bilbo looked startled. _Was the boy defending him?_

This time, Thorin didn’t reply, only awarded Bilbo with an aggravating look that made him swallow some air and feel nervous all of a sudden. He seemed to have found some words eventually but he never got to say anything, when his second nephew appeared next to him. At the sight of Fili, Kili quickly crossed the distance and buried his head in Fili’s side, the older one protectively putting both arms around him.

“Hey, what’s it?” He softly asked and caressed his brother’s hair.

But Kili didn’t answer.

The tables surrounding them had thankfully gotten back to chattering and eating, minding their own business by then.

“I think it’s better if we go now,” Thorin said quietly, but still with a cold intonation, “How much do I owe you, Mister Baggins?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Bilbo looked him straight in the eyes. He didn’t know what to make of it. On the first day they had given away everything he needed to know, but now, they were empty. He wasn’t sure whether it had been for Kili’s rough words, the rainy day, but the thankfulness and slight glee from the morning had been gone. _And here he had thought they were slowly making progress._

He debated saying anything about not being too harsh to Kili and that eventually nothing had happened, but he was afraid it would only worsen Thorin’s mood and make the boy’s punishment even harder.

Thorin nodded before he tipped Fili on the right shoulder, telling him to leave. Bilbo watched them walk away, Kili clinging to his brother’s hand, his head somewhat down, looking towards the ground. Bilbo had hoped he would turn around on more time, showing him his cheesy smile so he knew Kili would be alright – but the small, brown haired boy didn’t.

Bilbo stayed in the tearoom for another hour or so, mostly staring at Kili’s half empty cup and watching his own hot chocolate turning cold. He never ordered the cake they had come here for in the first place. He watched the table before him emptying and filling again twice and simply couldn’t bear to stand up and leave. He would ask Billy Houlding to apologize to Kili tomorrow, he finally told himself, as if that would make it all okay somehow.

On his way home, he was still thinking about the Durins. The thought in fact never left him until he fell asleep – _yet another night busy with them_.

  
The sun was already high on the sky when he drove towards the school on the next morning. He didn’t have a particularly good feeling as he parked his car and hoped he would not encounter Thorin all too soon. A nauseous feeling had made itself at home in his stomach and it did not actually ease once he entered Erebor through the main entrance. He only met a few students that had sat down in the broad, light hallway with the dark pillars. Some students enjoyed sitting on cushions on the floor beneath the huge ceiling-windows that let the beautiful sunlight in. The hall was surely as big as the nave of the church, maybe even bigger. They used it for concerts, theatre plays and twice a year to hand out the reports. Then, it was filled with six hundred chairs and a either a smaller podium or a large stage, but most of the time – _just as now_ – it was completely emptied and used for recess. 

His first class was with his German first years and Mister Ori was already done taking attendance when Bilbo entered through the door. His first concern was Kili, but from the door he could not directly look at him. He didn’t have to, however, Aaron had put the list on his desk and, with a bright, red pen noted _sick_ behind Kili’s name.

“Does anybody know what’s wrong with Kili?” Bilbo asked, looking into the class room.

Billy Houlding was concentrated on his desk. It was the girl next to him that replied.

“He’s down with a cold.”

Blibo nodded and looked at the list in his hands again for another moment. _The boy might as well have caught a cold from walking through the rain_ , he pondered, scratching his forehead until he remembered that there was a room full of first year students waiting for him to start his class.

“Who wants to read out their homework for us?” He finally asked, putting the list aside.

The class took long, longer than he had anticipated. Bilbo felt horrible as time stretched into eternity. Of course Kili didn’t suffer from a _cold_ , he must have stayed at home because of Billy or because of what had still happened when they had come home last night. He had a bad conscious. He didn’t even consider or think about just turning around and dropping Kili off back at school after he had found him. Had he then just taken the note from his uncle’s desk, no one would ever have known he had left.

He carried that bad conscious to lunch, where Professor Durin sat down far away from him, at the other end of the table. Bilbo wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or apprehensive, but for now, he was glad he didn’t have to deal with him. Still, he wasn’t hungry at all when a girl from the kitchen staff served him his Tortellini alla Putanesca. Bofur sat right opposite to him, watching him as he rolled the same Tortellini back and forth on his plate.

“Oi! Stop _playing_ with ye’ food!”

Bilbo looked up.

“I mean it, Bilbo, it makes me nervous.”

Bilbo let his fork fall into the pasta and crossed his arms.

“What is it with everyone today?” Bofur mumbled, “You’re calm as a mouse, playing ring-a-ring-o' roses with your food, Thorin’s yelling at everyone that crosses his way, who’s next, Lily? Lily are you gonna turn mad as well?”

Lily looked up from her plate, completely startled; she had apparently not listened to them, all too busy with her phone in her lap.

“Huh?” was the only thing she managed to get out.

“Never mind, eat your pasta.” Brofur grinned, “at least someone’s still normal in this madhouse.” He chuckled and turned to his beef again.

“I’m sorry Henry, it’s been an odd day.” Bilbo moaned, rubbing his temples.

“Anything you want to share?”

“No, not really.”

 Bofur eyed him for another while, neglecting his beef.

“Keep your head up, lad.”  

Bilbo grinned sarcastically and nodded, soon leaving his plate and the untouched tortellini behind, leaving for his classroom. He turned towards one of the windows in the hallway, noticing the soft sunlight penetrating the room and forming a little, weak smile on his lips. At least the rain had gone for now.

He had completely forgotten that it was Fili’s Latin class he had to teach now. At first he wondered whether Fili would be sick as well, but then he saw the older Durin boy leaning against the wall, waiting for Bilbo to open the room, together with his classmates.

Bilbo felt the sudden need to ask him about Kili and the last evening, but the students started pouring into the class behind him, Fili along with them, sitting down in his last row, just as usual. He couldn’t ask him now, and _it wasn’t – it really wasn’t any of his damn business_ , Bilbo had to remind himself.

As long as the class before lunch had been, this one was shorter than the blink of an eye, Bilbo thought as they heard the school bell ring for the last time of the week. Even Erebor’s students were tired on Friday afternoons, no matter the uniforms, no matter the tuition, no matter the traditions – on Friday afternoons they were just normal teenagers. Normal teenagers that never forgot their manners though, each and everyone bid him goodbye, wishing him a nice weekend when they left the room. Each and everyone but Fili, who, just as usual, packed his bag silently and slowly as the last one, before he approached Bilbo’s desk, making his teacher look up.

“Thank you for taking care of Kili yesterday.” Fili said, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

“Of course, no thanks needed,” Bilbo replied, frowning.

“He didn’t feel that well this morning, but he sends his regards and asked whether he was still going to get to eat that cake with you.”

Bilbo had to laugh.

“Yes, yes sure. _Anytime!_ ”

Fili nodded optimistically and for the first time, he actually, _actually_ , smiled. It made Bilbo’s heart skip a beat. He had only seen him tired and shallow the last few weeks and almost suspected him to be depressive. So when the boy was already turning to leave, Bilbo repeated himself with an honest voice.

“Fili? I mean it. _Anytime_.”

“Thank you, Mister Baggins.” Fili silently said before he left for good, a second, genuine smile on his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as promised, the next chapter made it within a week. When I first drafted this story, this chapter was a little more in the back of the story but I think it is actually very important to be in second place, because it has this ambiguity, Thorin at his best and at ... well angry but not worst, that's still going to happen :P Tell me what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more [Cover Art](http://magnolie.co.vu/post/76234285143/fides-et-veritas-modern-times-bagginshield) \- Simply because I can :P

 

He could never fathom how fast gossamer came. Soon the air was flooded with orange sunshine and the smell of dried herbs and colouring leaves. The tall, old oak trees slowly turned red and gold underneath the softly beaming light of the sun and the skies that seemed to collect more and more clouds with each passing day. Some of the girls now wore their black trousers to school, instead of the usual skirts, freezing in the cool morning air when leaving home before school. Bilbo had changed to his warm, grey winter coat and the brownish-red scarf that he had bought in Belfast last time he had visited his relatives. The coat wasn’t fit for the winter but he loved how, in the cooling September air, it always seemed to keep him cosy and warm.

Last year, Bilbo had learned that once gossamer had started, one needed to enjoy every last sunny day until it would eventually turn cold and dark. Up here in the North, they had nice summers, temperatures never reaching above 30°C and it rained more than it did in Brighton. Still, he loved to watch the change of the seasons and if he was honest – there was nothing more beautiful than sitting behind a window, drinking a good cup of tea and watching the rain pour outside in the dark. He would always love autumn and winter, as long as he could watch them from behind a secure pane of glass. Of course, back there in gossamer, he had not known what rain felt like when it crept up into your bones, soaking your coat and heart and erasing all hope leaving nothing but fatigue. Had he known what was still to come, maybe he had left the school, now that the roots he had put down were still young and easy to pull out of the soil. But for now, the only things that really bothered him were how he could manage to transport his lunch outside to the bench in the herbary, so he could enjoy it in the sun, accompanied by a good book and the noise of nature. No one ever disturbed him there – the rest of the staff had lunch inside, just as the students and no one ever visited the small herbary after the end of a Biology class.

At least no one ever had until one day in late September, when Bilbo was just balancing two sandwiches on a small tray to the herbary and was completely startled when he saw a small figure sitting on _his_ bench. He moved closer, still in need of a table or at least something to set his tray on, realising that is was Kili, looking at a small, rectangular _thing_ in his hands, his brown curls all mussy and dirty. _What was the boy doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to sit with his classmates through lunch?_ Bilbo still remembered their little _excursion_ to Betty’s very well, it had only been a week or so, but he had not seen the boy very much since then, although he had of course hoped he would come to him if he faced problems, just as he had told his older brother.

“Do you like herbs?” He tried, slowly approaching his student.

Kili looked up to him in shock, probably not considering someone would disturb him here. Only now Bilbo saw his red eyes and the scratches in his pale face. Kili used one sleeve to clean his nose before he got up and seemed to be ready to leave.

“Hey, hey stop, what’s wrong?”

Bilbo placed the tray on the ground before kneeling down to look Kili in the face. The boy had dropped his gaze, looking at the old, sunlit stones beneath their feet. His uniform was lacerated at the seams that held arms and body-part together, not worth mentioning the many strains and flecks that extended from his collar down to his trousers and the open knee that must have been bleeding only minutes ago, but was now already forming a scab. Bilbo was almost frightened. First he almost ran away and now he looked as if had fled from a pack of wolves.

“What happened?” He touched him carefully on his arm.

“Nuffin.”

The boy muffled.

“Well, your uniform tells another story, did you find it in a charity bin?”

“No.” Kili replied, _still not very fond of words_ , Bilbo thought and sighed. There was no way he could get the boy cleaned and dressed up within the next 45 minutes and after Lunch his teachers would miss him. If he sent the boy back like this, his uncle would get to know it and he’d rather not know what that would mean for Kili. He had missed two full days of school last time – Fili had never told him why, but Bilbo suspected that getting out of bed in the morning was even harder, when one knew school would only mean another encounter with the ‘ _enemy_ ’.  
He remembered the feeling quite well form his own school days.

Bilbo was still thinking about a solution, when his gaze fell upon the things Kili had held in his hands before Bilbo had startled him. It was a small, ornamented box about one hand long and half as wide. It first looked like metal, but when Bilbo touched it he could feel that it was carved from wood.

“That’s not yours!” Kili reacted, taking it away from under Bilbo’s fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo showed him his palms, “I am very, very sorry, I didn’t mean to take it away.”

Kili pressed the box to his chest as if he was holding on to dear life.

For a while, Bilbo didn’t know what to say. Small tears were still leaving Kili’s eyes on a regular basis while he whimpered silently. The boy did not move either, standing almost frozen in the same spot and holding on to that box while he was sobbing. Bilbo let out a small huff and touched Kili’s hair.

“C’mon, sit down at least, you can have half of my sandwich, how does that sound?”

Bilbo picked up the abandoned tray, setting it down in the middle of the bench while he took place on the right half, leaving the left for Kili. It took a while, but eventually Kili sat down, slowly placing the box beside him and taking that half sandwich Bilbo had promised.

“That’s a really pretty box you have there,” Bilbo remarked when Kili was chewing the final bit of his lunch, “where did you buy it?”

Kili shrugged his shoulders.

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t know,” he swallowed what he had left in his mouth.

“Was it a present then?”

Kili took the box back into both his hands and kept looking at it, carefully retracing the golden ornaments and fine indentations with his finger.

“It’s my mum’s.”

And then there she was. Dis Durin, the woman he had heard about from Lily and Peter Balin and that always seemed to be a complete stranger to him, almost unreal in the context of her stories. Now, for the first time, the stranger had somehow gained realness, the box almost being worth more than an actual photograph. It made Bilbo feel weary and the air slowly escaped from his lungs. Hearing the boy speak of her almost broke his heart.

“Your mum has quite a decent taste, it is really–“

“It’s mourning.” Kili interrupted him coldly, pressing the box to his chest again and looking to the white lavender in the herbary.

Bilbo didn’t quite understand.

“Mourning?”

“It’s mourning my mum, she’s dead.”

“I’ve heard about that.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Kili tensed a bit and Bilbo fell silent again.

“Why do you think the box mourns your Mum?” He asked then, the silence feeling uncomfortable.

“Ever since she’s dead it doesn’t play the right tunes.”

Kili let the box sink into his lap and looked up to Bilbo, who carefully placed the tray under the bench, before he took a closer look at the box.

“So it is a music box then?”

Kili nodded.

“What does it play?”

Kili did not answer but carefully clicked on a button on the back and a little bird came out of it. He turned the bird around, four, maybe five times, before he opened the box and let it play itself.

It was the typical sounds that escaped the beautiful, brown music box. Somewhat itchy, old and mechanical just like rocks in a river. While the music was playing, three mechanical birds moved inside it, flying over, what was probably supposed to look like water. Bilbo admired the technical finesse. Each bird looked different, carefully painted in clear and shining colours, and they moved through the box on top of thin sticks, which stood out of the metal ‘water’ and served as waves of the small lake as well. Whoever had thought of it must have been a genius; Bilbo did not even want to know how much the box had cost once.

He soon noticed that the box was playing “Für Elise”, but he could not fathom why Kili thought it mourned until the last few tunes. Bilbo had only little understanding of music and he certainly did not know the exactly melody of “Für Elise”, but those, maybe six last tunes were simply too high and disharmonic, even he could hear that. Kili had it play the symphony again and then a third time, but the tunes stayed wrong, never even changing a bit.

“And why do you think it mourns your mum?” Bilbo asked once the music box had ended a fourth time and Kili was just about to wind it up again.

“It never did that before! It always played it right! Fili showed me how to play it on the piano, I know how it sounded!” The boy retorted loudly.

“Did you maybe let it fall or over-turn the bird?”

“No!” Kili exclaimed resentfully.

“Alright, alright!” Bilbo raised his palms again, “maybe it got too warm or too cold somewhere.”

“But it started doing this right after mum’s death, she let it play for me on the evening before and when I played it the next evening it was _wrong_.”

Bilbo frowned. He had heard of those stories where people died and were buried and only a few days later the relatives found a rose, blossoming on the grave or dogs that died soon after their owners... but a music box? _Earth was a strange place_ , he thought and chuckled sadly.

“Well, maybe it does mourn then,” he said and shrugged, “there are things between here and there we’ll never understand,” he tried. Kili had probably heard ‘ _it’s simply broken_ ’ and ‘ _there surely is a good explanation_ ’ already and not listened to it.

The boy’s face lit up for a slight moment before he looked back at the box.

“No one ever believes me.”

“Not everyone wants to believe these things, you know,” Bilbo tried to assuage him. He wasn’t quite sure what to think of it himself, but he was also trying to be more open minded. Some people believed in science, others in the healing powers of holy water or stones, who was he to deny something that he had no proof against? He was not exactly into esoteric or any holy script and he certainly did not believe in ghosts, but what if, just by coincidence, Dis had lingered at her son’s bed a little longer that night, had placed the box on the heat and only taken it down the next morning? Bilbo had to smirk inwardly. _Faith_ was what they taught here after all.

“Kili, why do you look like this?” Bilbo asked after they heard the school bell ring inside, “and why did you bring the box to school?”

“I fell,” he replied.

“I don’t think so, you know,” Bilbo tried, “wouldn’t your box be broken then?”

“I had it in my bag.”

“Kili, you know that lying never helps to solve a problem, right? It only worsens them.”

For a moment he thought Kili would just get up, take his box and run away, or maybe yell at him, angry that he had been disturbed and that Bilbo wouldn’t believe him. But he didn’t. Kili bit his lower lip and muffled some of his tears, pressing his head against Bilbo’s arm, trying to sob not too obviously. He greatly failed and when Bilbo took the box from him and carefully put an arm around him, the boy almost burst out in tears, somewhere in between confessing that he had gotten into a fight with Billy Houlding again and that he was very sorry. It broke Bilbo’s heart once again and all he was able to do was sitting still and trying to calm Kili down with soft assurances that it was _all okay_ , that it would be _alrigh_ t and that he was _proud_ , that Kili did not tell him it had been Billy who started the fight but himself, while the boy’s tears were soaking his shirt.

Only slowly the boy seemed to calm down, yet again not letting go of his music box. Bilbo only dared to speak again when even Kili’s sobbing had stopped and he sat still on the bench, looking at the lavender again and enjoying the soft autumn air. He looked so small and sleepy, had they been anywhere else, he would have carried him to his bed and laid him down to sleep. Somehow, he now realised, he was growing fond of both brothers, even though he almost did not know them. Maybe it was because they shared the same fate, a mother that had left too soon, or maybe because Kili had his own head, much like Bilbo had had before he had become careful and philistine or maybe it was just the way Fili sat in classes, scribbling something onto his paper and hiding it away whenever someone wanted to see it. Bilbo didn’t know and it didn’t matter much to him right then, because the school bell rang a second time, announcing that the next class was about to start.

“What class do you have right now?”

“Maths.”

“Is Mr. Balin teaching that?”

The boy nodded.

“Now, we can’t have you walk around the school like that, can we?”

Kili looked up to him and Bilbo remembered how he had regretted going with him to the cafe and ‘reporting’ the incident to Thorin. He couldn’t do that to him again, could he? He had cried and been and told him the truth, he had been punished enough, Bilbo decided, taking him to his uncle would only mean more trouble, trouble no one actually needed.

“We can comb your hair and get you another uniform and tonight you have your brother look after your wounds, I will bring you to your class room and tell Mr. Balin you had a question about your homework and no one will ever know besides you, me and Fili, how does that sound to you?”

Kili blinked unbelievingly.

“You’re not gonna tell Uncle Throin?”

“No, I’m sure he has enough to do, doesn’t he?” Bilbo chuckled and blinked his eye.

Kili looked down to the ground first and then up again, right into Bilbo’s face, probably searching for proof he could trust him. He took a deep breath and released it again, maybe weighing his options. Eventually he seemed to give in though, because he carefully climbed down from the bench and took a deep breath, hesitantly limping back through the yard to the school next to Bilbo.

A small smile formed on his lips and a sense of pride filled his heart again. Kili still pressed the box to his body as if he was protecting it from all harm they might encounter on their way. Next to them, the trees and grass leaves sung in the light breeze that began to form and Bilbo wished they could stay outside for a little while longer. It would have surely done Kili good. There was no pain or despair the warm gleams of the sun couldn’t heal.

The Great Hall was empty already, not a single student within eyesight, as they entered it. They first brought the tray back to the staff room where Bilbo took a look at Balin’s time table so he would know where to get Kili after he had dressed himself up. Next to the time tables he also found the keys to the room where they kept the school uniforms that were usually sold to the students whenever a new piece of clothing was required. It was a little confusing, which keys were kept at the administration office and which ones could be found here, but for whatever reason, this one was traditionally kept in the staff room.

They were extremely lucky that most teachers seemed to be busy with teaching and most students with studying, because the halls and corridors were all entirely empty. Bilbo was quite relieved when the right door came into eyesight.

It could have all worked out perfectly, yes, it probably would have. But by coincidence, just as they walked around a corner, they met the professor, a book in his hand and his glasses ( _he had glasses?_ ) on his head. He first didn’t look up, but as he did, he looked startled.

“What is this? Kili what are you doing here?” He asked calmly, not enraged but visibly bewildered.

“I-,“ Kili started, but was interrupted.

“What happened to your uniform?” His uncle asked, sounding concerned.

Up until this point, Bilbo had thought they could manage. They could have explained that they were just looking for him (although they had just passed his office) and that Kili had fallen down some stairs. That he had gotten the keys already so Thorin could get his nephew a new uniform, but for a second time in one day, Bilbo had underestimated the meaning of the box Kili was holding. Because as soon as Thorin’s gaze fell upon it, the expression in his face changed from surprised and worried to angry and unforgiving.

“Is that _your mother’s_ music box?” His voice was loud now, furious and strong, “is it broken?” he paused, “did you finally manage to destroy it?”

“It’s weeping!” Kili exclaimed, almost louder than his uncle.

“We will not have that discussion again,” he held his book into the direction of his room, “my office, now, both of you!”

For the first time, he looked at Bilbo now, but his expression did not change at all. Bilbo swallowed some air, following the professor into his office and touching Kili on his shoulder, unsuccessfully trying to reassure him, that _it would be alright_.

As soon as they were inside, Thorin took the music box from Kili, carefully placing it in one of the shelves behind his desk.

“No!” Kili begged with a piteous voice, traces of tears in his eyes again, but Thorin didn’t listen.

“Why did you bring it to school? You know it’s not supposed to be moved!”

They boy fell quiet and looked to his shoes.

“And what did you do this time? Why does Mr. Baggins have to escort you through the school?” He looked back and forth between Bilbo and his nephew now, standing tall and imminent behind his desk, rage filling his eyes.

Bilbo blinked and quickly cleared his throat, making Kili sit down in one of the chairs.

“We were just on our way to you, Kili fell down some stairs,” Bilbo tried with the faintest of a calming smile, but (and how _could_ he think the professor would be that fast to believe him) it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“Stairs? Do you think I cannot distinguish between a boy that fell down the stairs and one that was in a fight?” Hi face was tensed.

“That was not what I meant, I-.” _what the heck was he saying?_

“Oh _was_ it not?” He was almost yelling now and Bilbo could see that Kili was hugging his legs on the chair.

Bilbo blinked once and then a second time.

“There is no reason to get this loud, it’s just a few scratches and a ripped uniform,” Bilbo retorted with a firm but not unfriendly voice, squatting down next to the chair Kili sat in.

“It maybe is to you,” the professor put both hands on his table, “to me it is another lie and another time I have to calm down a pair of parents, because you, _young man_ , seem to like resolving your problems by starting fights!”

He wasn’t looking at Bilbo anymore, but at Kili, who had buried his head between his body and knees, silently sobbing and shaking from his tears. Bilbo put his left hand on Kili’s back, trying to calm his muffled cries and to make him aware that he is not alone in the room.

“Stop that, he doesn’t need your _pity_ and he’s surely been cosseted long enough,” the professor told him, however, and Bilbo couldn’t stop thinking that the angriness was slowly dissolving into something that looked like ... helplessness. Still, Kili wasn’t stopping to cry any time soon, only howling louder with every angry word he heard. It made Bilbo mad. It surely wasn’t any of his business, although he liked the boys, and he surely wasn’t part of this family, in no way, but Kili didn’t deserve that. It hadn’t even been him to lie, it had been Bilbo, and he was the one who deserved the trouble.

“I don’t pity him, he’s hurt himself and it’s been enough for today, I believe,” Bilbo finally spoke up, his voice stern now and clear, for the first time. He had risen, was standing straight now and looking directly into Thorin’s blue eyes. It was silent for a moment, even Kili seemed to have stopped crying, but Bilbo was still holding the professor’s gaze as if whoever gave in first would lose. 

“I don’t believe this is any of your concern, Mister Baggins,” was the professor’s rigid reply, cold and unforgiving. Bilbo knew he had overstepped a thin, little line he had not dared to cross last time, but he wasn’t afraid at all, not anymore.

“I am still his teacher. And-“

“And you better leave now if you want to stay his teacher,” he paused, “I truly cannot fathom how Gandalf came to the conclusion that _you_ would be a decent addition to our staff.”

Thorin had slowly moved from behind his desk to Kili’s chair. Until now, his voice had been angry, surprised and loud, but now it was something much worse, it was disappointed and tired, at least towards the end.  
His words cut Bilbo, deeper than what he had said before. He did not know the man well; he had tried to get to know him, he had tried listening to him during lunch or when he was talking to the others, but truth was, he had never heard him speak much, not compared to what he seemed to be able to speak when he was angry at one of his nephews or Bilbo.

It stung inside his heart. Maybe crossing that line had not been his best decision lately, but then which one was? He knew he would feel bad about this soon, he hated people being angry at him, it was the reason liked being on his own and leaving the rest of the world to itself.

Bilbo took a deep breath. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out of his mouth.

“Kili will be fine, we won’t need your help anymore,” Thorin stated calmly, “put the key on the desk.”

For a moment, Bilbo considered retorting something, making a statement, but all that came to his mind were some angry accusations and words that would only do worse and not help Kili at all. Thy boy was looking at him now, eyes red and desperate.

“You know what I told your brother,” Bilbo silently said, hoping Kili would understand and believe him. He wanted to be there, he really wanted to stay, but he feared not obeying the professor would only mean more yelling and a harsher punishment for Kili.

He took one last breath before he placed the keys on the table, catching a quick look at one of the photographs. He was too troubled and aghast to remember the face at first, but as he had left the room and walked down the corridor, he finally recognized the woman in the picture. He was a _stupid, little man_ , he truly was. Making connections did not seem to be his strength, because only now he realized that _Dis_ was Desiree Durin, the chemist that had died in that plane crash eighteen months ago.

Bilbo put his face into his hands.  
It didn’t matter much now. And it surely didn’t change anything at all, she was still dead; it was only proof of his own incapacity. He was angry at himself, angry that he seemed to be unable to do anything right. A small headache crept into his eyes and he pressed them into their cavities with thumb and index finger, hoping it would release the aching for a moment. Apparently, you could only beat pain with more pain.

The afternoon sun was not friendly and warm anymore as he slowly walked back to his office. He took the way through the long corridor that led along the bailey of the building. The windows there were thin and long, only a meter of stone between each of them. Outside lay the lawns and the tall oak trees peacefully in the landscape. But Bilbo did not pay them much attention, a cruel sadness had taken over him.  
He knew he was dramatising his situation, but he _was_ the emotional kind of person, he hated himself for that. Always worrying too much about the wrong things and worrying to less about the right. He hated the feeling of his body all swollen with anxiety and he knew it was his own fault. Nobody had asked him to stick his nose into other peoples’ business. The headache was getting stronger now. Maybe he should cancel his next class, leave earlier and excuse himself. Maybe today as just awful beyond repair and the world would look different tomorrow, he hoped. _Good job, Bilbo Baggins, why don’t you just go ahead and keep being helpful._

He dropped by the secretariat for a moment, telling Dirk to cancel that Latin A-Level class he would have had to teach later – _Dirk looked a bit surprised, but wished him a fast recovery, asking if he needed painkillers, but Bilbo refused_ – before he went back to his own office. He felt terrible when he sat down in his chair, slamming his elbows onto his desk and letting his head fall into his hands. _Why did he act like that? Why the all the anger?_ Bilbo was not the kind of man to judge others quickly – no, he certainly was in no position to do that, but that ... _man_ (he thought of a million other names, actually) had no right to show him this kind of unkindness!

Thorin’s words still echoed painfully in his ears and he knew, they would surely not disappear anytime soon, but rather haunt him for the night and the next day. He would have liked to just stay at his office, not leaving his safe haven again. But it was no use tarrying here; he should go home, sleep and – _for god’s sake grow a thicker skin!_

In the bleak afternoon light shining in from his window, he slowly began to pack his bag, only now realising that he had sat in his chair for ... almost half an hour? He huffed loudly, followed by a long and pained moan. What did he get himself into? This was all supposed to be less... dramatic and hurtful! Maybe Thorin was right, maybe he didn’t fit here after all, he thought when he locked his door, taking another deep breath and feeling his heart beat in an unpleasant pace.

He walked down the corridor, his gaze down to the ground, looking at the black and while tiles. The last classes would begin soon, he thought, his mind emptying with every, monotone step.

His head was throbbing with pain – headaches were how he usually reacted to conflicts. As a boy, it had been a good excuse to run away from whatever tensed situation, as a student, he had always had an apology for missing a class or not attending a lecture. He had hoped it would go away some time, he knew it was psychosomatic, _of course_ , but not even time and his peaceful life at Brighton had made the nasty habit go away. Bilbo just wanted to turn around a corner to the left when he heard someone breathing. He froze where he stood and only peeked around the corner instead of walking.  
At first he did not recognize him, it really was his wonderful blue shirt and black trousers that gave it away as well has his dark, short hair.

Professor Durin sat, only meters away, on the few stairs to a white niche that held a small altar and a memorial plaque with the name of the Erebor students that had fallen in the Second World War. A bouquet of fresh flowers always stood on the white altar underneath the plaque and the students were encouraged to stop there whenever possible and take a silent second to remember. Some of them had great-grand fathers that had fallen in the war and some other even prayed there when the didn't want to go into the church, but Bilbo had never seen anyone sitting beneath it like that.

Thorin had his face in his hands, much like Bilbo when he had sat at his desk in his office. He didn’t make any noise, not that Bilbo had expected to see him cry, _hell_ , he hadn’t expected any of this! The professor was just sitting there, motionless on those stairs, elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. Bilbo did not dare to breath, fearing he would hear and accuse him of spying on him. But Bilbo also couldn’t move. What he saw startled him. Thorin actually looked downcast and crestfallen, almost helpless. Bilbo almost couldn’t believe that this was the same man that had banished him from his office only a little earlier. _Had he been so wrong?_  
All of a sudden he realised how selfish he had been, thinking about himself only and how bad _he_ felt about it! He had forgotten that it had not only been Kili and Fili who had lost a mother or himself losing his dignity, Thorin had also lost someone, and somewhere within that man _was_ kindness. He had seen it in the auditorium, had he not? He had always been so proud, never to judge anybody, where had that gone now? Seeing the professor sit there like that, made his heart break again. He had been unfair towards Kili, _yes_ , and angry and his words had been harsh, but only now Bilbo seemed to see that beneath the surface, there was no anger, but despair and shiftlessness.

Suddenly, he felt bad about watching Thorin like this, invading his private space. He had no right to do that, no right at all, so he turned around, leaving the professor behind and walking down the hallway back to the West Entrance where he stepped into the red air the approaching sunset had already claimed. He wanted to feel a little lighter, but he didn’t.

 

 ~  
  


The music was playing loud in his office just as he liked it best. It didn’t disturb anyone but the staff downstairs and he paid them for enduring his every evening Bach-excesses. He simply couldn’t concentrate when it was silent, especially not when he was adding new exemplars to his fragile collection. They had just come in from South America this afternoon, dead already and frozen in time, carefully packed and marked as private, diplomatic shipment, therefore not to be opened by any British jurisdiction. He had once received a package opened by customs, the shipment destroyed and incomplete – and those had not been protected species then.

The room was dark now, the only light at his desk, the music player humming the tunes of Bach’s Cello Suits. He had once played the cello himself, but now, that he was so busy with his collection and research, he rarely found any time for it. Justin, the son of his housekeeper Carole sometimes played on it, when he was allowed to and he could listen, correcting the boy whenever necessary – but it mostly stood in the corner of his living room downstairs, idle and unnoticed. No one could reach up to Vittoria Statininni anyway, no one would ever master the Cello to such a great extend as the Italian virtuosa did and he had once crushed a man’s firm for calling her _subprime_.

He knew every tune of the tow-hour concerto, live at Moscow, he had seen it himself and it thrilled him that his own clapping was among the applause at the end, that he had actually seen her there, perform as if it was the only thing she lived for. He wanted to put her in a golden cage right here in his study, only with a cello, so she could play for him every day, while he was adding little, new pieces to his collection.

He liked to keep it vintage. The leaves of paper he attached them to, had lain in the sun for months, the names of the species already written on it in the perfect, tiny sutterlin script only he could read: Papilio hectorides, Eurytides leucaspis and Eurytides protesilaus. He had looked forward so much to add the last one, his beautiful, white Zebra Swallowtail to his collection. He had already emptied one of the expensive glass cases downstairs, so he could now show his favourite, new friend to any of his guests. But what satisfied him most was how uncomfortable Maria, the cleaning lady, would feel being around them. The Spanish woman always crucified herself whenever she walked past them. She was haunted by the animals and he loved to watch how it crept her out, whenever a new case appeared somewhere in the house, another coffin for her to clean.

_“Doctor Auge,” she would say in her heavy Spanish accent, “it is no good for you to have around dead butterflies, it is no good! No good for you!”_

He sometimes wondered why she worked in his house at all. She compared him to the devil in person, referring to his almost orange eyes and his black clothes. She had once told him that her mother told stories about butterflies being the only animal not made by God and therefore a bad omen.

_“A butterfly too long in house means person will die! And you have many, many thousand butterflies in your house – it is no good for you, Doctor Auge, no good!”_

He licked his lips as he carefully stung a needle through the white swallowtail, soul eaters, he called his butterflies, or angels of death. Fitting, wasn’t it?

The music just paused when he heard a light knock on the door. Still fully concentrated on his butterfly, the door behind him opened and someone entered the room.

“Yes?” He asked.

“Mister Whiteskin just called.”

“Did he have any news?” He did not look up for even a second, still trying to find the perfect place for his butterfly.

“Yes, Dr. Auge, he said he could be here tomorrow and that he would need the blueprints or a recent map of the school.”

“Call our friends in York, they should have one in the archive there, have them send them to us until breakfast.”

“Yes, sir, and Carole is here, you said you wanted to have a word?”

“Send her in.”

He heard how the door was closed and light steps approached him.

“Droctor Auge?” His housekeeper said, standing next to his table and only now he looked up to her.

“Yes, Carole, could you take care to have this one downstairs before Mister Whiteskin arrives tomorrow? I’ll be finishing it tonight.”

“Are these the ones that came today?”

“Yes,” he nodded and let her have a look.

“They look utterly beautiful,” she lied, but at least she was a good liar. She hated them as much as Maria did, maybe more.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“No that would be all, I will go to bed as soon as I’ve finished.”

Carole nodded and took the cold tea away from his desk.

“Sleep well, Carole,” he quietly said as she was about to close the door.

“You too, Dr. Auge.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, keeping up the weekly pace seems to work out for me - it's always a lot of fun writing and adding little bits and pieces to my established drafts. Aaaaand, we've reached 20,000 words, I am very proud I wrote that in 3 weeks :D (or actually 8 days because I always start writing on Thursday/Friday and Chelsea gets it on Saturday). I hope you liked this one and will now look at butterflies a little differently, Doctor Auge is still going to gain some more importance. Check [this](http://magnolie.co.vu/tagged/fides%20et%20veritas) out if you want to stay posted on chapters and my inspiration for this and that. And please tell me what you thought of the chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

 

The days that followed were marked by rain storms and white skies.  
It seemed as if the whole of Northern England was turning grey and muddy, brown puddles appearing every few steps on the streets and roads. At first, Bilbo thought the leaves would soon turn orange, yellow and red on the trees, but instead of that, they seemed to be brown and rotten before they ever reached the ground, already corroded by maggots and foul from the rain. Meanwhile, the lawns were flooded – the water in the puddles cold and hostile, only stirred by the rough and freezing winds that were violently tearing at the trees and bushes at all day and night time.  
One could easily think they would also haunt the students and teachers inside the old and dark walls of Erebor School, but the only sign of them was the loud howling and sizzling. However old the school looked from the outside, it had only just been renovated and the heating system kept everyone inside warm while the bricks lay fast, stone on stone, not letting even a small breeze through.

The students arrived in the dark now, still tired and weary. Not a single girls was still wearing a skirt, all of them had changed to warm trousers and the cosy, green pullovers that were part of the winter-uniforms. But even the dark, hostile weather could not change their attitude towards their school performance, the first rounds of exams were approaching and even though some of them looked tired when they arrived at school in the morning, they all woke up properly during the morning prayers and seemed to be eagerly awaiting their first chance to shine.

Bilbo had not spoken to the professor again. He had tried, he really had, but it always seemed to be the wrong place and time. He never caught him alone and he did not dare visiting him in his office. He had worried about the boys first, but he had only seen Kili a few days later in class and there he had behaved naturally – meaning that he still didn’t take part in any class discussion and hung in his chair as if it was settle and he was watching TV. His homework was splendid though and every time Bilbo wanted to catch him after class, he was gone already. It wasn’t as if the boy was avoiding him, no he didn’t have that feeling. The situation to talk just never naturally arose and Bilbo rather had it that way than finding the boy after another battle again.

October had already started when Bilbo first heard the professor’s voice again. He was a little late for the lunch break at the staff room and silently entered through the door, abundantly surprised that he was not greeted by the usual chattering from the tables, but one, clear, deep voice coming from the far end of the room.

He closed the door and turned around, only to meet his eyes, suddenly and unprepared. Bilbo had to swallow hard at first and his heart started beating with anxiety, _thanks a lot for that_. Thorin never stopped talking, his features never changed and his small hand-gestures never fell still, but his eyes were fixed on him for just a moment. Bilbo tried to interpret his expression, the question, whether Thorin was still angry at him for his interference still bothering Bilbo, but it was useless. His eyes were empty and Bilbo sighed inwardly, _why did this have to be so complicated?_

A little disappointed both at Thorin and himself, he silently sat down on Henry’s opposite, next to Lily, who were both looking at the head master and not paying him much attention. Bilbo debated turning his gaze at Thorin as well, but all he managed was shifting around in his chair, looking into Thorin’s direction but never at the man himself. Only then he started listening.

“... so we have fixed the date for the festivity on December 6th , just as usual – it’s a Friday and next year we will have to postpone it anyway because it will be a Saturday then.”

Oh right, Bilbo thought, the birthday of bishop Erebor was approaching.

“Just as usual, we decided to have chicken stew, tomato salad and apple mouse for both staff and students and also, just as usual, we will join the students on December 6th for lunch.”

Bilbo grinned as some of the teachers silently moaned in anticipation and some other cheerfully smiled, already looking forward to it. Even Thorin seemed to be able to share a sarcastic smile with his staff. Having the simple meal, tomato salad, chicken stew and apple mouse together with the students on December 6th was a long lasting tradition at the school.

“As for the performances in the evening, Mister Bofur and Doctor Spiegelman have teamed up to lead the choir – how many songs have you planned?”

He looked up from his paper to their table and Bilbo was utterly thankful that Lily was at least one head taller than him and he could easily hide his face behind her.

“We thought of a canon of ‘Fides et Veritas’, ‘Story of the lonely Man’ and we guessed it would be nice to end with ‘May the road rise to meet you’,” not Henry but Doctor Spiegelman answered with her high, squeaky voice – Bilbo had never been able to comprehend how someone with a voice like that could lead on a choir, but she had in fact studied music and when she stopped speaking and started singing, her voice turned dark and ancient and very, very beautiful.

Bilbo saw how Thorin scribbled something onto the papers he was holding and it immediately remembered him of Fili. They were both left-handed and shared the same facial expression when concentrating. It made him smile unconsciously and raising his eyebrow at it.

“And then I reckon that Doctor Dori wanted to realise a reading of the last chapters of ‘Faith and Truth’?”

“Yes, we wanted to rewrite the key moments and explanations into a dialogue,” Angus Dori, the Religious Education teacher remarked from one of the tables behind Bilbo and he turned around, a little bit confused.

“Like a play?” Thorin asked, looking over the fringes of his glasses.

“No, a dialogue, with one student reading the Bishop’s parts and a second student arguing with him.”

Thorin seemed to ponder on the idea for a moment before he looked back at his notes.

“What chapters did you think about?”

Bilbo had never read the late work of Bishop Erebor, he was still stuck with his early studies about the Revelation and his interpretation of the _Parable of the Tenants_ and, _well_ , had not even reached the first book of ‘Faith and Truth’. He had never easily shrunken away from any lecture, _he really hadn’t_! But the bishop’s interpretations of the New Testament bored him to death and if he was honest, he faced great trouble even understanding the most simplistic, biblical references and explanations.  
Bofur had told him that ‘Faith and Truth’ was much easier to comprehend, though it still carried some more abstract ideas, which was probably why Thorin did not directly agree with the reading, or was it?

“We wanted to do the discussion of John 8:7 and Luke 6:37, if that suits everyone.”

Thorin seemed to be thinking again, matching the numbers to their respective parts of the Bible and debating whether they were a good choice. The only thing Bilbo was actually certain about was that both belonged to the gospels and he could guess from the first number that they were neither about birth nor death of Jesus. _He had to do some serious reading_ , he thought, he was teaching at a Christian school, after all and at some point (moments like this one) he was a little clueless.

The passages must have been a good choice though; because Lily was looking at Bofur, approvingly nodding and Bofur returned an affirmative smile (Bilbo basically joined them with another quick nod and approving mimics – what they deemed _decent_ couldn’t be too wrong and, _hey_ , he could always pretend he knew what was going on). Since everyone seemed to take it so positively, Bilbo wondered when Thorin frowned and not directly agreed. He was the head master of this school, in a line of Durin-head masters, he must have surely had a Christian upbringing. _Or not?_

“I would like to read the chapters in ‘Faith and Truth’ again first, but I will tell you about my decision by the end of the week.”

“Of course,” Dori replied and Lily grinned.

“Still hasn’t found the time to read the gospels,” she winked at Bilbo, suggesting that the head teacher in fact didn’t know much more about the content of the Bible than Bilbo and it did made him chuckle, for here they were, in midst of a room full of people that seemed to know exactly what Dori was talking about, both of them being as clueless as it got. Maybe, after lunch, he would catch him outside in the corridor and try to apologise (the image of Thorin sitting on those stairs still haunted him) for his rudeness.  
Yes, he would have probably done that, had he not been completely startled by Thorin’s next statement.

“And then I was told that last year a multi-lingual poetry reading was organized?” It was actually more a question than an actual statement and it hit Bilbo completely unprepared, still debating what to say _after lunch_ – but all of a sudden the whole room had turned to him, awaiting his comment.  
He had been the one to organize that multi-lingual reading last year.

“Ye-Yes that was me,” was all he managed to get out at first and, _why, why, why_ did Lily have to shift backwards in her chair, making it impossible for Bilbo to hide behind her, now confronted with Thorin himself, in his grey pullover and glasses on his nose, looking somewhat ... _good?_ Bilbo’s guts twisted from either the fear that the man would start yelling at him right in front of everybody or – and he abolished that thought the moment it entered his mind – from the way Thorin’s glasses sat on the tip of his nose and his mouth was lightly agape, listening to Bilbo.

“What did you do then?” Thorin simply asked, his facial expressions still not giving away any of his thoughts.

“W-we had the students read out poetry in Latin, English, German and French. Some of them presented their own works as well,” Bilbo hesitantly explained, his hand getting sweaty around the arm rest and his heart beating violently against his ribcage.

“How were the reactions?” Again, no sign of any change – _how did the man do that?_ Had he forgotten about their encounter already? Or did he just have one hell of a self-restriction?

“Widely positive,” Bilbo nodded, not to underline his statement that much, but more to reassure himself. _Why was this so hard?_

“Would you like to do it again then?” he asked.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure,” he swallowed some air and bit his lip catching a confused look from Lily who had probably noticed his strange behaviour.

Thorin seemed to again make a note on his paper, not paying much attention to Bilbo. He still waited for a reply about how, when and what, but the professor had already turned back to the room, not granting him another look, but continuing with explaining some minor details while the kitchen staff entered from the door at the back of the room, serving lunch to the teachers closest to them.

Bilbo’s heart rate only settled slowly, regaining normal pace when a cup of tomato soup was placed before him on the table.

“You alright?” Lily asked next to him, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine... I guess.”

“You guess?”

“No, I’m sure,” he managed to show her a false smile before taking in another deep breath and starting his soup.

He would do this well, he would make this worthwhile for the parents and teachers, who were going to listen to performance, for the students and for himself; Thorin’s words still echoing in his ears. This would be good --- _oh yes it would be brilliant!_ He would try to get everyone from last year to join him and pick some of the most engaging literature he knew, _he was thinking of Dickinson, Eichendorff and Homer_. And he would have them recite their own poetry as well, he had thousands of ideas for themes, they could all do something coherent, representing the same thing from different angles, maybe the school, maybe faith – he wasn’t sure, but this was going to be brilliant, it had to be!

 

He met with his students only two days later, telling each and every one of his students about it twice, especially his first years and those who had taken part last year.

But next to that, he wanted Fili to join them.  
The boy wasn’t drawing or anything during Bilbo’s classes, so he suspected that he was writing, either poetry or prose, but from what he had seen (and it wasn’t much since Fili used to hide whatever he was scribbling from Bilbo) he only filled the centre part of his paper – so it must have been poetry, he was quite sure of that.

He hadn’t addressed Fili himself, only looked at him for a longer period of time while he was inviting everyone during their Latin-class. He dearly hoped he had got the hint and would come to their first rehearsal. Something was sleeping inside that boy and it needed out, whatever it was: grief, anger or love, it didn’t matter as long as he learned that he didn’t have to go through it alone.

So when Bilbo entered the beautiful, brown and big Mendelssohn-Auditorium that was normally used for concerts and music-classes, he was a little disappointed to miss Fili among the twelve students that had assembled in the first two rows of the hall. Most of them had taken part in the reading last year, Susie Mitchell and William Armstrong sat in the first row as well as Annie van Huijs and Henry Wong and some more in the second row. He also saw two of his first graders and a few new faces – but Fili was missing. He let out a silent, sad moan before he began to descent the stairs, down to the podium and sitting down on the stage opposite to the students.

“Now, twelve all in all, that should make a nice evening then,” he greeted them with a smile nevertheless – he would find another way to make Fili come out of his shell and he was still proud that so many students had found interest in the reading.

He first let them introduce themselves to the others, making them name their favourite pieces of poetry and poets along with something they themselves had written about, if anything. Some of them had indeed and were eager to not only read foreign pieces but their own.

“You may decide yourselves; those of you who’d rather stick with a poet of their choice may do that, but you are welcome to perform something you have written yourself,” he explained after one of the first years had uncertainly asked if they _had_ to read out their own poetry.

It was quickly settled that everyone was to bring three pieces of poetry with them for their next meeting on Monday, each being in another language and dealing with the topic of ‘coming home’ or ‘homesickness’ (it had not been his, but Annie’s idea and he’d rather liked it – he didn’t want to couple this reading to the staging of ‘Faith and Truth’ – not to mention that he still had no idea what it would be about anyway).  
Bilbo let them go after that, most of them were only excused from class and he did not want them to miss out on too much.

He was already packing up himself when he heard the door open behind him again. Bilbo first thought that one of the students must have forgotten something and was merely coming back to pick it up and so he did not turn around directly. It was, however, Fili’s that slowly walked down the steps from above, patiently waiting for Bilbo to notice him.

“I’m too late,” he simply remarked and only then Bilbo turned.

He was quite startled when saw him standing there, clutching his bag and leaning against the chairs.

“Yes, you are, a little,” was Bilbo’s spontaneous answer although it got out a little wrong and the next moment he saw Fili’s face losing a little bit of the light it had just displayed.

“N-Not _too_ late!” Bilbo quickly added, trying an affirming smile and he saw a little relief on Fili’s face, “the others have left, however,” Bilbo then said gesturing to the empty auditorium, trying to break the silence because Fili was apparently even less talkative than his younger brother.

“You said, that you would be there, if I... _we_ needed anything,” Fili finally started, “did you mean that?” he asked, leaning forward a bit.

Bilbo had to swallow. Of course he had meant it, although he had given up hope, any of the brothers would ever actually come to him with anything. It made him a little happy and also a little proud.

“Yes, I meant that, for both you and Kili.”

“Kili is fine,” Fili replied, looking away.

“Well, he’s not the one who’s here is he?” Bilbo smiled, sitting down on the stage again.

Fili shook his head.

“I reckon you want to take part in the reading then?” Bilbo encouraged him.

“I’m not sure if _he_ would like it,” Fili exclaimed, letting his shoulders fall and gazing into the space to his right.

 _He?_ This wasn’t about Kili anymore was it?

“You mean your uncle?”

Fili only nodded hesitantly.

“What should he not like about it?” Bilbo asked, a little afraid that once again, Thorin Durin would stand in between Bilbo and the boys. He was quite relieved however, when he saw that Fili simply dropped his shoulders, chewing his lower lip.

“Or are you just afraid of it?” Bilbo used another approach, a little bit more daring this time.

“No I’m not!” was Fili’s instant and slightly resentful answer.

“I don’t believe you,” Bilbo grinned.

“What?” Fili was staggered.

“If you’re not afraid of it, let me hear one of your poems,” Bilbo demanded, pointing at Fili’s bag.

“How do you know I write poems?” Fili's eyesgrew wide in surprise.

“Well you must be doing something when you’re not listening to me in class,” Bilbo cheerfully remarked.

“They’re really not good. I never find the right rhymes,” Fili mumbled, looking to his shoes.

“C’mon try, I won’t laugh, I promise,” Bilbo rose his hand, putting the other on his heart.

Fili sighed. He seemed to be debating whether to run away at once, leave with a short good bye or actually read out something to Bilbo.  
He finally seemed to have taken a heart because he placed his black school bag on the stage next to Bilbo, pulling out a white folder. Bilbo was quite surprised when he saw how many loose pages Fili had kept in there. It must have been a hundredth or so, because they were all numbered and the highest number Bilbo saw was a #97. The boy must have been looking for something special, because it took him a while before he had found the right sheet of paper, closing the folder again and stepping back a little.

Fili cleared his throat, looking at Bilbo for approval to start, which he quickly granted him.

_It’s dark in Oakwood, dark and cold,_   
_they say – that long and longer,_   
_no one passed through it and took --_   
_the road around it in its place._

_The woods are always dark and deep,_   
_no light between the trees,_   
_but Oakwood’s thick and trees are dark,_   
_there might be light, I cannot see._

_I remember that there was,_   
_once, so many years ago,_   
_I remember that inside the woods,_   
_a lovely chimney always burned,_   
_a house that offered warmth,_   
_to those that were then brave enough,_   
_to cross the woods at night._

_Does that chimney no longer burn?_   
_Has the fire gone out for good?_   
_I don’t dare to cross them anymore,_   
_those deep and dark and oaken woods._

  
Bilbo didn’t dare to speak right after Fili had ended, he was too astonished and amazed at what Fili seemed to be able to do with words while they still seemed to lastingly reverberate in the auditorium, never losing any of their beauty.

“That was incredible,” he finally managed to say when he had found his words again, but Fili’s face barely lit up, he stared at the lines on the white paper.

“No, that’s just... rubbish,” he angrily retorted and crumpled up the piece of paper, wanting to throw it into the nearest bin, but Bilbo stopped him, catching his arm and taking it out of his hand.

“Don’t you dare throwing that away, you’ve written it!” His voice sounded almost angry.

“But it is still rubbish, a silly poem about some forest that doesn’t even exist!” Fili yelled, trying to yank the ball of paper from Bilbo’s hand.

“We both know that this isn’t about a forest,” Bilbo loudly stopped him, Fili’s face turning as white as the paper in Bilbo’s hand and his face tensing up.

“Now calm down, I’m not going to publish this anywhere or shout it from the rooftops,” Bilbo carefully unfolded the paper looking at it again. Nothing was crossed out or corrected, just as if Fili had written it in one, long outburst of emotion.

“You should read _this_ at the Erebor birthday, it perfectly fits into our topic.”

“I surely won’t,” Fili crossed his arms, looking down again.

“But it is beautiful and really good. Have you ever read this to your uncle?”

“Of course not!" Fili frowned.

Bilbo sighed silently, reading the four stanzas again and again.

“I won’t _make_ you read this, but I’d rather you would. Everybody can read out Robert Frost but this is really precious, Fili, and beautiful and I’m sure your uncle would understand it.”

“He already has enough on his mind,” Fili softly uttered, looking down and turning the little, golden cross that he was wearing around his neck, between is thumb and index finger, “he doesn’t need me to recite my ... rubbish in front of his colleagues.”

It really _was_ a shame, especially because Bilbo was sure it would leave the professor thinking, if Fili were able to pack up his fears and questions in such fitting lines.

They stood together in silence for a while. Bilbo wanted to say something, but there didn’t seem to be the right words. There was probably not much that could get Fili to read his own work instead of Frost, Schiller or Lord Byron and Bilbo felt that the more he pushed it, the boy would get away from the idea.

“Did you think of any other poet then?” Bilbo looked at his hands and Fili nodded.

“Eichendorff.”

“I didn’t know you were taking German,” Bilbo gave him a surprised look and a smile.

“I don’t,” Fili simply replied, shrugging again.

Oh right, they had lived in Austria, Lily had told him about that, it only came back to him now.

“Are you still fluent?” He asked.

Fili grinned devilishly, maybe even a little sad, and shook his head.

“I can probably pronounce it correctly still, if I’m lucky.”

The atmosphere was a bit lighter now, not as forced and angry as it had been before, and if this was the right road to take, Bilbo was on it.

“I bet you do,” he winked at him, “do you have his works at home?”

“No, but I can use the internet?” Fili offered and Bilbo frowned playfully.

“I don’t think so. Have you never used the library?”

Now it was Fili who frowned.

“There is a library at this school?”

“Of course there is a library at the school, where do you think the teachers and students get their books from?”

He gave Fili is bag back, keeping the poem to himself for now, still afraid the boy would try to throw it away again and Fili was apparently worlds away already because he didn’t ask him for it again, but instead obediently followed Bilbo up the stairs and down the corridor. As soon as they had closed the door, the school bell rang and slowly students started pouring out of the doors, running through the hallways to their next classroom. Bilbo had to turn around twice to make sure he didn’t lose Fili in the turmoil, but the boy seemed to be automatically catching up with him whenever they were separated.

The library was in the ‘rear house’ of the school. It wasn’t actually a rear house, but it was the part of the building that was furthest away from the main entrance, separated from the class rooms and auditoriums though a long corridor that held small, gothic windows on each side. Bilbo already looked forward to be freezing his tail off there soon, because the narrow floor was _of course_ not heated during the winter and Bilbo borrowed books from there on a regular basis, crossing the floor at least twice a week.

As soon as they opened the door, two stories of books lay before them and Fili put his head back to look up, his mouth falling open, surprised about the 46,492 books ( _Bilbo knew that be heart!_ ) that were stored away in the many shelves ranging from the ground to the ceiling. Right in front of them, a few of the older students sat at the tables in the middle of the room, studying or reading. Some of them looked up wearily, but didn’t bother much about Bilbo and Fili. The ceiling window cast a white, afternoon-grey-skies-light on them and the lamps were not yet turned on.

Before Fili could say something, Bilbo pointed at a rather abstract sign that showed half a face and an index finger, reading “silence”. He then bent his head in the direction of a small door in between the bookshelves to the right, having Fili follow him there.

“And?” he keenly asked when he had closed the door behind them.

“Lots of books,” Fili laughed, looking around.

They had entered another, even more beautiful room. It was more a conservatory or heated winter garden, most walls being replaced by large windows and the bookshelves, along with the rest of the interior, looking more modern and less gothic than the reading room.

Bilbo took a quick look at the back of the room, being sheltered from his view by a bookshelf standing in the middle of the room, to make sure they were alone and did not disturb anyone.

“They keep the foreign language books here,” Bilbo went to one of the shelves at the wall, quickly finding what he was looking for,” C’mon, sit down.”

He carefully packed away a lexicon about ... butterflies? He didn’t really see it, but when he closed it a small cloud of dust bust from it, it must have been lain there for quite a few weeks already.

Together, they went through the small book containing most of Joseph von Eichendorff’s poetry. Bilbo was amazed by how much Fili still seemed to understand – amazed being the wrong word since both boys seemed to be nobody’s fool and quite quick to understand. He had Fili read out this and that and suddenly found himself to be reminded of Andy Littlemayer, his Wednesday German students who had hated every second of their lesson and never even seemed to improve a little. He couldn’t even compare Fili to that – had it been for him, they would have sat in the winter garden for the rest of the day, reciting Eichendorff and whatever other book he could lay his hands on afterwards – and Bilbo would have greatly enjoyed that, because when it came to poetry, Fili seemed to thrive and lose himself in the words. ‘Teaching’ one-on-one hadn’t been so much fun since he had been a student himself back in college, but at some time, after they had sit together for quite some while, the librarians switched the lights on, making Bilbo hurtfully aware of the time.

“Didn’t you have class today?”

“No, Mister Balin is down with a cold and since he’s only fallen sick yesterday evening, they couldn’t find any surrogate.”

Bilbo let out a relieved huff, he didn’t want to fight with the professor about keeping his nephew away from class to... read German poetry in the winter garden.

“You should go anyway though, the last class will be over in a bit and you don’t want to make your uncle wait.”

“Oh no, Kili and I are taking the coach, he still has a conference with the department of chemistry tonight.”

Only now, that he had heard it for the third time maybe, Bilbo came to realize that Fili never called Thorin by his name nor did he use ‘uncle’ when he spoke of him. It made something crack inside Bilbo, it could have been a coincidence of course, but he was almost certain it wasn’t. Also, _a conference?_ He hadn’t heard about that yet.

“Be careful then,” he tried not to look to pitiful when Fili had gotten up and was ready to leave.

“Thanks for today, Mister Baggins, I hope I didn’t cause and trouble.”

“You didn’t Fili, don’t worry. We’ll be rehearsing next Monday, so come back to pick one of the poems.”

“I will,” he smiled and went away then, leaving Bilbo behind in the warm winter garden.

He was a little tired by then, widely aware that he still had to set up the Latin exam for next week and that he was far from going home. He nevertheless lingered in the winter garden, resting his head on his arms and looking drowsily out of the window to another of the oak trees outside and how it softly bent in the wind.

Fili still gave him a hard time. On one hand, his experience with Kili in Thorin’s office still haunted him and he was very keen on not hearing “ _I truly cannot fathom how Gandalf came to the conclusion that you would be a decent addition to our staff_ ” ever again. On the other hand... he had _already_ stuck his nose into other peoples’ business and he didn’t quite seem to be able to get away from it all, whatever he did, and he actually also didn’t want to – at least concerning the two younger Durins, their uncle was a whole other riddle to him, a forest too deep to walk through, maybe.

Bilbo thought back to the first day of school. Maybe if he hadn’t gone over to Kili’s table, or if he hadn’t asked Fili if he was alright, he would have spared himself from all this. They weren’t _his_ nephews; he actually didn’t know the boys very well and yet, he felt a weird sense of attachment towards them. _This wasn’t going to end well, was it?_ This was going to end in tears for either one of them, just because he, Bilbo Baggins, couldn’t mind his own business.

He was getting melodramatic again, was he? He surely was and he slapped himself for hit before he took his bag and left the room, heading back to his office.  
He didn’t want to leave the boys hanging, he liked them. He might not be able to change much about their situation at home, but he could at least make their time at this school a little more enjoyable, could he? He had to, because he had never met anyone who had so quickly grown dear to his heart.

Bilbo quickly forgot about his personal fuss though, when he entered his office. Much to his despair, he realised that he had left the window open and that it was terribly cold in the room and to top that, all the sheets of paper that had so neatly been stacked on his desk the incoming wind had taken and scattered all over the place. With a loud moan, Bilbo hurried to the window to hastily close it before even more damage could be done. It would take him hours to sort the sheets again; they were the printed version of a pdf file he had found on the internet.

He slowly began picking up the sheets, they had really gotten everywhere. Halfway through the chaos, he had to turn on his lights, because it was slowly getting dark outside. He heard how finally the last bell rang and students passed by his office, leaving the school now and he had barely been through the first thirty pages then, _hell_ , he had to be thankful the pages were numbered.

The sky was black already, when he perforated the last piece of paper, putting them all in an empty folder and then under his desk. Realising, that the work he had come here for only began now, he looked at the clock, it was half past seven already.

For a while, he simply stared at an empty sheet of paper, his thought drifting away to Kili and Fili again. He knew he had to phrase a short, Latin text for his students to translate, but he couldn’t quite get his mind to focus on that task.  Instead, he kept watching the clock, forcing himself to not leave before he had at least written that text, but since he never actually started, it got later and later and later until his long case clock tolled ten.

Outside, he heard an owl shriek and finally, finally the right words came to his mind and the text almost wrote itself.

He felt pleasantly weary and content when he was done. He only had to typewrite it tomorrow and he would be done, but more importantly, he was finally done for today. The only things he wanted now were his most comfortable couch and some good music alongside a heavy, red wine to fall asleep. And, oh how he looked forward to that as he got up and stretched, his glance falling on some books he had borrowed from the library two weeks ago.

 _Bugger_. He had forgotten to bring them back today. Of course the library would be closed now but he remembered the small desk next to the door they had put up for the teachers that wanted to bring back some books after hours (he unsurprisingly wasn’t the only one who ‘liked’ to work until late). Maybe if he put them there now they wouldn’t charge him for exceeding the loan period. Technically it still was October 6 th and if they found them there tomorrow, they would probably turn a blind eye to him ... he hoped.

Bilbo carefully tugged the six books under his arm before he left his room, leaving it unlocked but checking on the window twice this time, to not find another mess upon his return.  
It was entirely dark in the school now and only as he stepped onto the corridor a light went on. Bilbo looked at his watch, the security service must have taken over by now. During the day there were only one or two guards in a small gatehouse to keep track of who entered the school and who left it. Nobody ever noticed them and that was on purpose because they didn’t want to scare the students. At night, however, the school was practically on lockdown, nobody could enter it from the outside and at least six guards patrolled inside the building on a regular basis. Bilbo knew there were cameras in almost every corridor, although he had never noticed any of them – which was on purpose as well.

He carried his books down the hallway until he reached the back of the building. He walked around one corner before he stopped and listened. Was that music coming from somewhere?  It was _some_ kind of noise, muffled and oppressed and it almost sounded like a melody. Bilbo had to frown but continued his way through the school nevertheless until he recognized that he was standing in the beginning of the hallway that held Thorin’s office. If he went to his right, he would come to the library eventually, but if he went straight ahead he would reach the professor’s office.

It was a certain slant of light that made him do the latter. Not only the light though, because he had been right about the music, there was some music playing, or more precisely there was singing – it almost sounded like a large choir and it came from one of the doors – the professor’s door in fact, along with that slant of light.  
The door stood ajar, almost as if he had either forgotten to close it or it had sprung open by accident.

Bilbo couldn’t help but slowly move closer, rearranging the books under his arm so he could get a better grip of them. The music became louder the closer he got. He told himself to stay away, to not intrude again, but he was Bilbo Baggins, always a little too curios at times and he pushed all nagging doubts away as he stood by the door, peaking through the slit of the door.

At first he only saw darkness, the professor’s desk and some of the shelves, but then he shifted a little, looking through the slit in another angle. What he saw startled him. Someone had put up a large canvas-screen in the middle of the room that completely filled it from one side to the other. A film was projected onto the screen and it also seemed to be the source of the music, because all Bilbo saw was people, a choir actually, standing on a wide stage, looking at their music-sheets and singing song Bilbo couldn’t identify, it sounded like a church song though. The recording must have been at least a few years old according to its quality and the clothing and hairstyle of the people in it. As the camera zoomed closer, Bilbo saw that they were all wearing little, golden crosses around their necks, much like the one he had seen with Fili today.

He soon got to know why, because whoever had filmed the choir, he seemed to be focusing on one particular singer now. A blonde, rather short woman appeared in the picture, staring to the conductor in a concentrated manner and singing alongside with the others. Bilbo observed how she, at once, peaked over to the cameraman, showing him a quick smile before she turned back to singing.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Bilbo heard a whisper coming from the recording.

“What do you think Fili, is mommy gorgeous?”

The camera turned to a little, blonde boy, sitting in the lap of someone that appeared to be... _Thorin ?!_ \- only younger and wearing a joyous, beautiful smile. The boy couldn’t be older than four or three and he curiously eyed the camera being held back by Thorin, who pressed a little kiss on the top of his head, waving into the camera, before the camera man turned back to the choir, zooming in on the woman from before. She had closed her eyes now, passionately singing the chorus, pressing one hand to her chest.

“Look at that, she’s really into this,” he heard Thorin’s voice now, only younger and lighter, filled with joy.

“Just because the only thing you concentrate on is chemistry, doesn’t mean Desiree doesn’t have any other hobbies,” Bilbo heard the man holding the camera joke and apparently he received a small nudge for that from Thorin, because the camera shook for a moment. Bilbo heard strange banter coming from behind the camera while the auto-focus found what appeared to be Dis Durin again who was just about to end the song with a long last word.

Only now, that the recording came with a loud applause to an end, Bilbo saw something else moving in the room. There was someone sitting on the couch in front of the screen, Bilbo could neither confirm nor deny that it was Thorin, so he moved a little closer, forgetting about the books under his arm, which loudly fell to the ground, followed by an even louder echo. It – _of course_ – came into its own now that music and applause were over and silence filled the room behind the door. Bilbo silently cursed himself, _what a success again!_ And before he could even bend down to pick up his books, he saw how the figure on the couch turned around and looked him straight in the eyes.

It _was_ Thorin, of course.          

He was by the door in the blink of an eye, shoving it open and staring at Bilbo furiously and bewildered.

“What are you doing here?” he asked sternly.

“I-I was just about to...” Bilbo peeped, swallowing hard and visibly looking for words.

“You have no right to be here!” Thorin roared, almost shaking with anger.

“I know, I was-“

“Then what are you doing here?”

Bilbo had not thought he could get any louder, but he could. He was so loud and looked so aggressive, Bilbo hardly found any resemblance with the man on the screen in the professor’s face.

“I wanted to bring books to the library, and I saw that your door was open, and I wanted to check on you, because it’s almost midnight and I was wondering why you were still here,” he managed to say and he was surprised at his ability to form a coherent, full and rather sentence.

“I don’t _need_ anybody checking on me, do you hear me? And neither do my nephews!”

“I was really just-“

Bilbo was stopped by the gleaming in the professor’s eyes. He could see that he was enraged beyond measure and his body was shaking with ire.

“No, don’t. Mind your own business, we’ve had enough of that. You have no right to spy on me or to tell me how to raise my nephews and your concern is _not appreciated!_ ”

 **Whum**. That hit home. Harder than he had anticipated. _Bilbo Baggins, you are a fool beyond compare_ , he thought. How did he manage to always worsen the situations he actually wanted to make right? He hadn’t cried in a long while, but Thorin’s voice had been so loud, his eyes so angry and his face so furious, he felt as if small tears were trying to conquer his eyes. Something squashed his lungs, he felt as if he was suffocating and all air was sucked from them at once.  
Well, there wasn’t really much left for him to do but leave, was there?

Bilbo still wanted to add something, say sorry and apologise for once and for all, promising to not even look at Thorin anymore, but when he had collected all his books from the ground, he only managed to nod and turn around.

He still felt Thorin’s gaze upon him as he walked down the corridor, but he didn’t have the courage to turn around once more. If he only had, because had he turned around, he would have seen that Thorin’s eyes were no longer filled with anger, but nothing but grief.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, OMG ELLI MADE [this](http://magnolie.co.vu/post/76736950539/sweetlydoomed-fides-veritas-a) WONDERFUL ART - I really died the moment I saw it :D  
> Now, enough of all the fuss about Fili, Kili and Thorin, the characters are established, you know what the situation looks like, the _real shit_ (as I like to call it :P ) will start with the next chapter.  
>  Thanks to all of your who've been to very kind to me this week (and all the weeks before) and reassuring me that I'm on the right track - I am very glad you like it so far :)


	5. Chapter 5

 

He had thought it would be a little bit more ostentatious and festive, Gandalf’s send-off. Bilbo had expected a nightly firework and a feast – because that was what he was known for, _but no – no_ , apparently not anymore.  
They had taken one of the staff-room tables and placed a few bottles of supermarket-champagne next to some crackers and mini-sandwiches above some ugly napkins. Bilbo was utterly bewildered, staring at the meagre buffet before him. They didn’t even have a church-service or anything of that kind; no one gave a farewell speech or at least said a few words about the past year: Everyone was supposed to feel free to eat and drink whenever and how much they wanted, so it was not even a real send-off it was more a ... walking-by-off and Bilbo was almost disappointed. He had hoped a little party would ease the tension that had built up between him and Professor Durin and would distract them a little. He didn’t dare looking Thorin in the eyes anymore, let alone speak a single word to him while the silence was growing colder and colder with each day that passed.

Fili and Kili, however, were behaving normally still. Bilbo had feared the professor would forbade them to spend any time with him outside of class, but Fili came to the rehearsals and Kili even visited him at his office a few days after Thorin’s outburst, asking Bilbo to borrow a book and questioning him about the non-existent ‘Misses Baggins’ when he had seen a picture of his mother on his desk and mistaken her for his wife.

Bilbo still didn’t feel exactly light-hearted. Within the last weeks, he had only seen Thorin thrice. He seemed to eat lunch at his office now more often and Bilbo had therefore only met him twice in the corridor, passing him by and not even granting him a single glance and once when they had just arrived at Erebor in the morning and he was walking inside next to his nephews, which had been terribly uncomfortable, because Kili had waved at Bilbo, calling him but he had not approached them but instead just waved back. Thorin had turned around then, but Bilbo had turned his head so he would not have to face him.

He knew it was ridiculous to feel frightened, but he was. Not for his job, but more for his well being. He could not stand fighting a cold war against someone and to be confronted with situations he could not solve right away (or possibly never).

At first he had been angry, though. When he had come home that night, he had felt like slamming something through his flat, breaking something – but it had been past midnight and he didn’t want to wake his neighbours. _What was wrong with that man? How could someone be that impolite and furious_?  
The answer had only come to him later, when the bottle of wine he had emptied was kicking in and he was stranded on his couch, too lazy and tired and maybe a little bit drunk to walk to his bedroom: The man had told his nephews, _lied to them_ , that he had an important meeting and sent them home so they would not see him grieve their mother. And the way Bilbo had sneaked up to him ( _because that was what it must have had looked like, and, to be serious, that was what it had been truly_ ) had robbed Thorin of his privacy, of the integrity of the memory he was savouring.  
No, he wasn’t supposed to be angry at the professor, he was so supposed to have sympathy and Bilbo had felt terrible for it all that evening and not slept very well. He didn’t like antagonising others if it could be evaded, but it didn’t seem as if he could ever have a normal or even friendly relationship to the professor.

Maybe that was the way it had to be, Bilbo thought as he looked up into the staff-room, seeing Thorin and James Dwalin standing next to their usual table. Bilbo eyed them for a moment; they seemed to be discussing something until Dwalin handed him a grey folder and gave him a slap on the shoulder before Bilbo saw Thorin nod and take a sip from his glass.

“What are you thinking about Bilbo Baggins?”

He almost fell from his chair when Gandalf appeared before him out of nowhere, taking seat at Bilbo’s table and eying him curiously.

“No-Nothing, really,” Bilbo cleared his throat and took a long sip of his Champaign to calm his nerves.

Gandalf didn’t stop staring at him, but only wrinkled his brow, scrutinizing Bilbo’s face.

“You seem utterly tensed these days. Tell me, what happened?”

“I am fine,” Bilbo gave him a false smile and put the glass on the table.

“You don’t seem so.”

“It’s been... a little complicated between me and your ... successor,” he peeped.

To Bilbo’s grand surprise, Gandalf’s face seemed to light up all at once and he turned around to find the professor talking to Lily and Aaron now, before he turned back to Bilbo.

“A decent choice. You fit quite well to my mind,” Gandalf showed him one of his brightest smiles and Bilbo nodded at first, a little bit lost in his thoughts, before he had processed Gandalf’s words properly and looked up shocked.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Professor Durin. It’s quite a match don’t you think?”

“What match?”

“Well didn’t you just say it has gotten complicated between you?”

“Yes, but-but I didn’t mean- wait, did you think , me... and ... and him as in _us_?” Bilbo blushed and his face turned as red as a ripe tomato. _Oh, no that couldn’t be true, could it? How did he get himself into that mess again?_

But Gandalf nodded approvingly.

“NO! NO!”

Bilbo didn’t notice how loud and red he had gotten, but when almost the whole room, the professor included, turned around to them, he apologetically raised his hand and waited before everyone had turned away again until he spoke.

“Not _that kind_ of complicated! Just... normal complications as in _we don’t get along that well_ ,” Bilbo sighed, taking his forehead in his hand, still a little bit flushed.

“Oh, so you’re not... seeing each other?” Gandalf enquired again.

“No, we’re _not_!” Bilbo emphasized again.

Gandalf nodded understandingly.

“So what are these complications?”

“I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed,” Bilbo admitted, looking at his hands.

“People cross lines every day – that is how we move from the presence to the future,” Gandalf answered calmingly.

Bilbo looked at him, a little confused and bemused.

“Keep your eyes fixed on the big picture, and don’t be so afraid of changes,” he added with a genuine smile and put a hand on Bilbo’s left shoulder.

All he could answer with was a long sigh and a look through the window to their right. At least the sun was shining on Gandalf’s departure. Rain would have only made it more hopeless and depressing.

He saw Gandalf off at the station the next day. He was taking the train south to London and Bilbo thought he had heard him say he would be taking a flight to Cairo from there, where he was going to spend the winter months, working at the Egyptian Institute for History. Bilbo felt a little colder as he saw the train leave from York Railway Station. It was still early and the skies were coloured in grey, letting not a single sunray penetrate the clouds.

He took the bus home and once he had entered his flat, the clouds opened, imbuing his sitting room with grey, muffled light and oppressive silence. _Now he was alone, was he?_

Bofur called later that day, checking up on him and offering to come over to watch the game, but Bilbo refused, asking for a rain check and Henry understood, telling him that he would be at home if Bilbo needed anything, and that Lily was asking for him, apparently they were having lunch together.

Bilbo thought he would feel less alone after the call, but he actually didn’t and so he sat in his armchair for a while, looking at the ceiling and letting his mind wander to the night at the school, the railway station and the last time he had been to the sea. For hours he told himself he would get up at last, do something, really anything, postponing it every time.  
Eventually, when he heard the clock in the flour tolling four in the afternoon he got up, took one of his baking-books out of the shelves behind the arms chair and headed for the kitchen.

He had faced worse. He had faced his mother’s death, thousands of gerbera ever since and her sisters fighting over her inheritance. He had lived through the loneliness in Brighton and Thorin’s tempers. He would not fall into depression because of Gandalf wanting to spend the winter on a sunny terrace in Cairo. He had flower and sugar and milk and enough eggs - He was a Baggins, and the Bagginses had faced worse, and they hadn’t been able to bake to get their mood up!

 

When he ate half of his chocolate tart that evening, he felt much better. He brushed a few crumbs from his lip with his tongue, leaving nothing but chocolate in its place. It wasn’t so much for the chocolate (although it did help) but for the fact that he had pulled himself out of the rabbit hole. It was time to look forward, nor more grieving and drama; nothing could ever make it any worse than it already was!

At least that was his thorough belief.  
 _And he was wrong._

 

He would later not be able to recall how many days or weeks had passed between Gandalf’s departure and _the worst day_ , but it could not have been many.  
It was still October and the first exam week had just been over, giving the students a few days of false relaxation, ease and time to prepare for the approaching Erebor Birthday. Bilbo still remembered that it had been a Tuesday, because on Tuesdays they usually had their rehearsals and gatherings for the poetry-reading and even though they didn’t have that on _the worst day_ , obviously, he remembered that Fili had approached him that morning good-humouredly, before the second class of the day had even started.

“I’ve found the poem I want to read!” He announced, stopping Bilbo on the way from his office to his classroom.

“Really? That’s great news!” Bilbo replied, smiling delightedly. They were finally making progress.

“Yes, I was thinking about _Im Abendrot_.”

Bilbo frowned.

“That one is pretty sad,” he remarked and looked at Fili with concern. _Was everything alright?_ The poem told the story of an elderly couple that had sat down after a day of hiking, looking at the sinking sun and thinking about tiredness and death, or at least that was what every German literate would interpret.

“No, no it’s not! It’s full with thankfulness and easiness and joy,” Fili objected loud and enthusiastically.

“A lot of people would say it is very sad, including everyone who understands a few words of German in the audience,” Bilbo tossed in.

“But all the colours he uses, all the images, the birds and the sun and the wind. It’s like saying goodbye with contempt – it’s _bittersweet_ if anything at all,” Fili objected, enthusiastically waving his hands at every word. It made Bilbo chuckle and acknowledge that there was at least some truth in his words.

“Alright, we’ll listen to it after lunch, how does that sound to you?” He gave Fili a wink.

“Once you hear it, you won’t let me recite something else!” Fili promised.

“Alright, alright," Bilbo agreed with a look at his watch, "shouldn’t you be at your classroom already?” He asked then.

“Mister Bofur won’t mind,” now it was him to wink, “but I should go anyway, I guess,” he looked into the direction of his classroom.

“I’ll see you after lunch,” Bilbo told him before he sent the boy off, lingering at his spot for another while and wondering.

 _Since when had he become so cheerful?_ Bilbo had watched him open during the last weeks ever since they had started with the rehearsals and he felt a little proud of himself, looking at the way Fili now followed his classes more _eagerly_ , most of the time actually participating in the lessons, even though he never raised his hand. He had postponed poetry-writing to his leisure time (so it seemed), and he even had his book open while Bilbo’s classes, following his explanations most of the time.

He still sat in his last row and he was always the last to leave the classroom, never really catching up with any of the other students, but at least during their rehearsals he sat in between the others, instead of the end of the row, giving input now and then or commenting on a performance or self-written poem.

Yes. Yes they were actually making progress. Bilbo wasn’t sure whether he would be able to convince Fili to recite his own work at the festivities, but at least the boy was having fun and didn’t look all pale and silent anymore.

That thought on his mind, he entered his First Year German class, the children still leaning over to their classmates or standing at each other’s tables while Aaron was at Bilbo’s desk, looking through a few books, apparently trying to find the right one.

“Is everything alright?” Bilbo asked him as he sat down his bag next to the chair and pulled it away from the desk.

“I was just looking at the books on your desk, do we need all of them?”

“Yes,” he had completely forgotten about that, “yes, I want you to take some of them with you to another room later and practice some new sentences; I’ll have the other half here and do the same.”

He did that every once in a while when he thought a split of the class could be of use to have a smaller group to teach and to be able to make it a little more intensive for the students. Aaron would then take his half to another room to do the same with them and in the end they would reconcile to share their newly gained knowledge.  
However, they would only come to that later and leaving them with a check of their homework for now.

  
He was already ten minutes into his class when he noticed a certain, continuous rattling at the back of his classroom and he stopped with his questions, looking up irritated.

It was Kili who was almost crawling beneath his table, looking at something in his bag.

“Kili what are you looking for?” Bilbo eventually asked and the whole class turned around to Kili.

At first there was no answer, but then the brown haired boy looked up (probably stirred form the silence) and left the bag on the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

“What were you doing?”

“I can’t find my book,” he confessed and looked rather troubled.

“Isn’t it in your bag?” Bilbo didn’t drop the matter.

“No I-,” Kili was rubbing his palms against one another, “I think I left it at Mister Bofur’s classroom,” he sheepishly confessed and Bilbo let out a little laugh.

“Well, then go and get it,” Bilbo offered warmly , “but hurry up.”

He only thought of having Kili share a book with one of his classmates later, when the boy had already closed the door. Never again in his whole life would he regret something as much as letting Kili walk out of that classroom. He had done a lot of foolish things in his life, ranging from simple hitchhiking to _missing_ his mother, and he had thought that must have been the biggest mistake he had ever made.  
 _It wasn’t it certainly wasn’t_. His mother was dead now, and she was either somewhere in a paradise-like place and happy and content or she was just dead and not caring anyway. Kili, however, Kili would have been spared from an experience that would have been shocking enough without him being alone on a school corridor.

 

The boy wasn’t gone for a full minute and Bilbo hadn’t even been able to figure out which part of the homework he wanted to discuss next, when they heard the loud **bang**.

_One and then another, and then a third._

_Was it coming from a car outside that backfired? Or an unsuccessful experiment in the chemistry-labs?_ Bilbo’s first thought slipped to the professor, but he wasn’t teaching now, was he? – No he wasn’t, Bilbo’s timetable hung next to his in the staffroom and the field was empty, he was sure of that.

The whole class was now looking to the windows or into any direction they thought the sounds might have come from and Bilbo already wanted to continue with his class, when they heard another _bang_ followed by a short silence and then the familiar sound of the alarm system.

Two, fast high pitched sounds and one low pitched sound were for fire.  
A high pitched and a low pitched for an accident somewhere in the building.  
A high pitched and two low pitched sounds were for a rampage.

Each classroom had three, differently coloured buttons on the wall next to the door, and when Bilbo heard the second, this time low-pitched sound, he prayed for another high pitched sound, hoping that someone had fallen down the stairs or hit their head in a door.  
But his prayers weren’t answered when the alarm system produced a second, long, low sound and he started to realize that it had not been a car to backfire, but that the noises they had heard, had come from a gun.

“Everybody down!” He yelled and got up from his chair within a mere second while the faster students were already on the ground, moving towards the back of the room, away from the door that Aaron was locking while Bilbo was letting the shutters down. It was routine, they had practiced it dozens of times, but he had always been lazy and joking about it. These things never actually happened outside of telly, and they surely wouldn’t happen at Erebor. At least that had been what he had hoped for until this day in late October, the day that from now on was no longer October 19th but _the worst day_.

Bilbo’s heart was racing. Was it a student? A former student? He remembered the shooting at the elementary school in Connecticut; it had been a former student then, right? _Or did he confuse that?_ His thoughts were racing.  
They had to stay in the room until the fire brigade or the police would come through the door or well – someone else did. Bilbo’s hands fell sweaty once he let down the last shutter, only a little light still coming through, but almost darkening the room completely.

His mind went blank once he realized next to what table he was standing.

_Kili!_

He wasn’t back yet. And within the two minutes of his absence, he could have never reached Bofur’s classroom. With the whole school on lockdown, they wouldn’t let him in now either, no one would.

Kili was alone out there.

Bilbo heard a small whimper, it came from one of the girls that had sat down next to his teaching-assistant and were trying to cry or make too much of a noise while Aaron was trying to calm them down and sooth them.

“You need to sit down,” Aaron urged him, pulling at Bilbo’s sleeve.

“What about Kili?” Bilbo hissed and looked into his face, almost hoping for an answer.

“He’s okay, he’s probably at Henry’s already, please sit down, Mister Baggins, sit down,” his voice was cracking as he begged him to get down to the floor with the children.

“Henry’s room is next to the rear house, he could have never reached that in that amount of time,” Bilbo dissented in a whisper.

“Someone’s let him in, I’m sure someone has!” Aaron desperately tried to remind Bilbo that they were under no circumstances to leave the room, but stay with the students until it was all over.

He couldn’t go out there. No one could know how many were out there, if it was just one or more, and whether they would shoot again. He could run right into their arms if he left the classroom. It would be madness.

Bilbo looked at his students. Most of them had their eyes closed, heads down and leant against one another for comfort while some others where silently crying or sobbing and holding onto Aaron or another classmate.  
One thing struck Bilbo. They all had someone to cling to, they weren’t alone, not like Kili was and not like Bilbo had been on the day his mother had died. He couldn’t leave him alone out there; nobody could tell where the shooter was and whether he could discover Kili soon or what he would do to him.

He couldn’t go out there, right? He couldn’t. He was not even close to brave enough to do it and it would be foolish and reckless and dangerous.

Something inside him stirred painfully. Maybe it was courage, maybe it was stupidity. He had to get him. _It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?_

“Stay with them,” Bilbo ordered with a hushed voice, before he turned to his students, “alright, everyone listen. I’m going to get Kili, he’s probably just out the door. Mister Ori is going to look after you. Listen to what he says, don’t disobey and don’t let anybody in, not even me or Kili, don’t open door after Mister Ori has locked it behind me!” Almost all of the children nodded immediately, crawling further back into the corner and the dark of the room.

Aaron looked at him in horror, his gaze begging him to stay, but there was no way he was leaving Kili out there. He couldn’t do that. He would have done it for any of his students, he realized now, the fact that it was Kili only made him decide faster.

As he went to the door, Aaron quickly following him, trying to persuade him again to stay, but Bilbo carefully (and quietly) turned the key around and gave his assistant one last look.

“Lock this up, and don’t let anyone in.”

His voice was less than a whisper and Ori nodded finally, but still disagreeing.

Then Bilbo opened the door.

The corridor before him lay silent, almost peaceful with a few sunrays shining through the windows. Bilbo first looked to his left and then his right, but nobody was there, the hallway was empty. Only as he carefully stepped into it, he heard his heart beating loud against his chest, something he hadn’t noticed before, and he felt the blood rushing through his veins.

When Ori closed and locked the door behind him, he was completely alone.

He had to go right to get to the rear house, leaving the curtilage to his left behind him. He silently waked on, passing some of the other classrooms that were currently occupied, but nothing gave away that anyone was in there. He thought of the hundreds of children, crouched together on the floor, waiting for someone to free them from this and he couldn’t wait for himself to be back in York, back in his flat with a warm cup of tea and a good book, knowing that Kili was safe and sound as well.

Bilbo had difficulties to breathe regularly, either sucking in huge amounts of air in small sniffs or not breathing at all. His heart was still wildly pumping blood, filled with adrenalin up to the last drop, through his body – but it mind was utterly blank. He kept moving slowly, listening to every possible sound, but there was nothing. Not another bang or someone walking, not even muffled noises form the classroom.  
It was unbearably silent.

He soon passed on to the inner walls and corridors of the school where he rarely went but which were the fastest way from his classroom to the library, or, for this exercise, Henry’s classroom. He thought about whispering Kili’s name, but the chance the boy would hear it was too small while it was likely someone else might hear him, someone he didn’t want to meet, not now and never in his whole life.

As he carefully turned around a corner, he heard the first noise since he had left his classroom. A silent huff followed by a sob and then silence again.

“Kili?” He whispered now.

The sounds had come from a few lockers ahead of him.

“Kili, it’s me, Bilbo. It’s okay, where are you?”

As angry as he was with himself about letting Kili walk, he was now relieved as the boy stuck out his head from behind the lockers. Someone coming from the other side would have probably seen him, but be covered from one side was better than standing in an open hallway, Bilbo guessed, happy to have found him.

“It’s okay honey, come here, we’re gonna find some place to stay!” Bilbo calmly whispered, his breath still not under control and his heart beating loud in his ear.

Kili carefully stood up and Bilbo saw that he was silently crying, but also was he limping.

“Can you walk?” He asked and Kili shook his head.

Bilbo carefully lifted him up. He was smaller than most of the boys his age and much lighter as well. Kili hid his face in Bilbo’s neck, putting both arms around him, while his tears were slowly soaking Bilbo’s shoulder, muffled cries being chocked by the wool, and he carried Kili down the corridor, desperate to find a door that did not belong to a classroom and was still left open.

“It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be alright,” he whispered, patting Kili’s back.

They finally entered a corridor that had a storeroom Bilbo knew of, because they had asked him to put his old chair in there the week after he had arrived. As far as he remembered, they had not needed a key then and the room had been unlocked. A huge weight fell from his shoulders as they approached it, Kili slowly getting heavy on his hip and in his arms, but the moment he laid a hand on the door knob, he heard a noise coming from floor ahead of them. Heavy steps were advancing towards them and Bilbo hushed back behind a large plant, not willing to risk a locked door and standing open on display, an offer to them almost, served on a silver platter.

While he was sure they couldn’t be seen, Bilbo had an almost perfect view on the corridor. Kili had turned his head as well and Bilbo showed him to stay silent, to not sob until whoever this was had passed. Maybe it was Thorin, Bilbo thought, or any other member of the staff, also looking for someone or already evacuating, or maybe it was the guard form the gate house. He prayed it was, _please, please let it be one of them._

It wasn’t. A huge, muscular man walked down the floor before them. He wore black pants and a black pullover, his head was bold and he held a gun in his right hand. He was looking straight ahead, not to his right where Bilbo and Kili were, fortunately, and he passed them only seconds after he had come into their eyesight. He couldn’t really see it, but it seemed as if he was wearing a mask, some kind of Venetian mask, maybe. Bilbo hadn’t dared breathing and he hoped the beating for his heart wouldn’t give them away, for it was loud and booming in his ears, although probably impossible to be noticed at all from far away.

They didn’t move even after he has passed them. For minutes they stood there before Bilbo finally walked around the plant and into the storeroom. He reached for his glasses, but they fell down to the ground, and – of course because only he could be that unlucky, slithering over, too far away to reach them now. He closed the door nevertheless, he would get them ... later.

Inside, it was warm and dusty and the air was old and stuffy.  
He sat Kili gown in one corner after switching on the light and took a chair, which he placed under the door knob and blocked the door.  
There wasn’t much in the tiny room, only some brooms, old chairs and miscellaneous odds and ends, nothing to really defend yourself with, should someone come through the door. It might have been possible to staple all the chairs to build some kind of barricade behind which they could hide, but there were simply too less and he couldn’t risk making a sound, so he sat down next to Kili, who had crawled to the back-wall, putting one arm around him.

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

“No, no my ankle hurts,” he sniffed and pulled up his left trouser leg.

“Did you fall?” His voice was no more than a puff of air.

Kili gave him a silent nod.

Bilbo couldn’t see much in the dim light, but it wasn’t blue and it hadn’t started to swell yet. Maybe it wasn’t broken, but only sprained or overstretched, he couldn’t tell. He felt ... utterly helpless, he only realized now. Adrenaline had had him going until here, but now that they were sitting down and were lulled into a false sense of security, his limbs were falling weak and started to shake, even while he was sitting.

“We’re gonna go to a doctor once this is over, alright? Just a little longer now.”

Kili let his head fall against Bilbo’s side.

“I’m scared,” he whined silently.

“I know, I know,” he tugged his arm around Kili more tightly and put his head on his, “it’s not much longer now, alright? Police is going to be here soon and they’re gonna help us.”

“Who was the man we saw?” He looked up to Bilbo.

“I don’t know Kili, I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” he tried to sooth him as silently has he could.

“Why did wear a mask and why did he have a gun?” he whispered frightfully.

“I don’t know, maybe he was just...” yes, what was he _just_? There was no _just_ when it came to guns in schools, there was no normal explanation for four gunshots in a school hallway or classroom.

_Four gunshots._

Only now it dawned on him that the man had fired four gunshots. At whom? Had he killed someone? Had he reached a classroom or seen someone on a corridor? If yes who was it? He only hoped he had missed his aim and not tried it again. There hadn’t been any shots ever since those four in the beginning.

Bilbo looked at his watch. It was almost ten now, he had left the classroom about fifteen minutes ago, it couldn’t take too long until the police from Leeds would arrive and they would start to evacuate the building. What if the gunman was still inside by then?

Bilbo remembered how he had thought it couldn’t get any worse. All his worries, all the quarrels with Thorin, Gandalf’s departure, the boys and his own whining about his life seemed to be so secondary and ridiculous now.

“How long is it gonna take?”

Kili had calmed down a little as he finally spoke again. Hs eyes were still wet, but the tears had ceased flowing, the last ones already drying and leaving salty traces behind.

“I don’t know, Kili, I’m sorry,” he wished he could tell him they would come any moment now, but he didn’t know. He knew that the alarm system was connected to the police station and the fire department in Leeds, but he had no idea of the protocol concerning a (possible) rampage.

“What if he finds us?”

“That won’t happen, I promise, he won’t find us,” Bilbo carefully rubbed Kili’s arm and the boy snuggled even closer to him. He felt weak and helpless there on the floor, his muscles still tensed in case he had to jump up and defend them. He wondered how Ori was doing with the kinds. He was probably telling them stories about some great heroes that would come and rescue them soon. However grown up and determined most of the Erebor students appeared, in moments like this they must have been just normal eleven-year-olds, afraid of the bogy that was creeping through their school. There was no waking from this nightmare; this would either end in tears of relief or in tears of grief.

 

He lost track of time at some point. The light was slowly dimming, the bulb was probably as old as the school itself and close to never used. Kili was staring into the dimness before them, shaking a little but as silent as a thief in the night. Bilbo could only wonder about his bravery. He would have understood, had he been yelling and crying continuously, but no, Kili was silent although in shock, of course.

Suddenly, they heard a noise from the corridor, it did not sound like steps though, maybe it was even outside, a bird that had flown against one of the windows.

“He is going to find us, is he?” He asked again, looking up to Bilbo with worried eyes, that were slowly filling with tears again.

“No, he isn’t,” he said again, patting his head.

He could see it in Kili’s eyes. The boy didn’t believe him. Damn it. He needed something to distract him, something to make him calm down and pass the time while they were ... waiting.

“Do you know the story of the little Hobbit John Tolkien?” Bilbo whispered.

Kili blinked twice and shook his head.

“Well, once, a long time ago, in a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit. And that Hobbit, he never left his neighbourhood and he lived a peaceful life.”

“What’s a Hobbit?” Kili quietly asked.

“That’s a – that’s a man, not like a man, a little smaller, and sometimes wider and they... _well_ they have hair growing on their feet,” Bilbo wasn’t the best story teller of them all, he should have picked a fairytale maybe, something he knew and wasn’t making up himself, in a dim room, with a gunman walking outside. _Hell, they should be silent anyway._

Kili frowned.

“He loved riddles however!” Bilbo quickly stated his voice even lower than before.

“Do you want to hear one of them?”

Kili nodded.

“But you have to guess as silently as you can, alright?”

Kili gave him another nod.

“There are thirty white horses on a red hill, first they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still. What is that?”

The boy next to him frowned and looked on the ground, he seemed to be thinking, but he was silent, neither crying nor speaking and it felt like a blessing.

“Is it milk?” he asked after a while.

“No it’s not milk, think of your body,” Bilbo whispered.

This time Kili seemed to be examining all his body parts, first his hands, then feet and legs and finally his abdomen and face.

“Is it… teeth?” He finally guessed and Bilbo nodded with a small smile.

“So, did Mister Tolkien think of it too?”

Bilbo gave him another nod and tried to think of an explanation.

“A really bad creature asked him that once in a … in a dark cave beneath a mountain, and he knew the answer right away, because … because he was very, very _brave_.”

Kili blinked twice before he silently gulped and let his shoulders and head fall.

“My mom always told me to be brave.”

_Oh bugger. He was the master of depressing little boys, was he?_

“She would be very proud of you now.”

Kili looked up again.

“I don’t know many young men who can sit through something like this.”

Kili shrugged and seemed to play with his fingers.

Then the light went out.

Bilbo could feel how Kili cringed in his arm and buried his head in Bilbo’s pullover as if someone had opened the door and he was afraid to look at it.

“It’s alright, it’s just the old bulb,” Bilbo patted him. With the lamp out, he felt even more uncanny. The courage he had so easily invented back in his classroom was slowly fading, leaving nothing but sheer worry. The only source of light was now coming from the small keyhole in the door. It was a white, cold light a remnant of the few sunrays that had managed to fight the clouds. Dust danced within the pale beam that didn’t reach very far into the room, and somehow it was soothing, seeing the little dots dancing.

He had seen this kind of light before, hadn’t he? It was the same kind of light that had shown through the windows of the day his mother had died. He remembered it clearly. It had been afternoon then, not morning, and he had been good-humoured. He had finally found time to visit her after a stressful week at the university. She’d probably awake now and the doctors had told him the week before that she was doing good. He had even bought her favourite flowers, gerbera and chrysanthemums in the morning.

When he had entered a room that day, a certain smell of forfeiture had been in the air and he had found her bed empty.

“Excuse me,” he had asked one of the nurses, “I’m looking for my mother, has she been moved to another room?” The nurse hadn’t know right away and walked him to the staff-room, where he had asked one of her colleagues, a young, tall man – he could remember ever little second of that day – whose face had immediately darkened and looked at Bilbo with pity. He had known then, he had not needed any explanations. He had just dumped the flowers into a bin while the man had tried to explain him that she had died in the morning and that they had tried to call him on his phone at home.  
He’d never forgiven himself for it.

But now was not the time for reviving that day. There was no use of giving himself a hard time now, of all times. He needed another riddle to busy Kili with and distract him. He couldn’t see his face anymore, now that the room was pitch black, but he couldn’t hear him cry or sob either. His own heartbeat had slowly gone back to normal, or whatever came close to normal. They had been in here for a while, but what felt like half a day was probably only little more than half an hour.

He had hoped to soon hear noises, people leaving their classrooms or police horn, but it still was silent. They were on a floor that almost exclusively held offices and assembly rooms, the nearest classrooms where in the Curie and Einstein auditoriums and even they were very much out of earshot.

But maybe that was a good sign, maybe the shooter had left and they had started evacuating the building, telling the students to keep silent and make as less noise as possible, and, with a gunman inside, now police car would ever turn on a horn.  
Bilbo was almost so far as to relax a little bit, as strange as it seemed, but his body had used all its reserves, he simply wasn’t able to move anymore of keep up the racing of his heart. He was sure, that if he got up, he would not be able to stand for more than a second because even in his sitting position, his knees were as weak as it got.

Just as Bilbo was about to let the last muscle relax and give Kili another riddle, they heard steps. They were still far away, but they were loud and fast, coming closer.

“What is that?” Kili asked, panic in his voice.

“It’s alright Kili, it’s alright.”

Bilbo’s body tensed again and, no matter how weak it must have been now, his heart started racing again, pumping hot blood through his veins. _Please let him walk further, please don’t have him notice us in here._

As he heard the first strange, dump sound, he got on his knees, shoving Kili behind him. Whoever it was, he was trying the doors. Bilbo would have reached for anything to cover himself, but he couldn’t see anything. His eyes had gotten used to the darkness by now, but risking something to fall down from atop something he would grab, would only draw him towards them.

“He’s coming!” Kili silently cried behind him.

“No, no that’s the police, Kili, don’t worry, they’re coming to get us out of here,” Bilbo reassured himself.

But then, what if it wasn’t?

“Kili? I want you to close your eyes now and duck and think of you mom, okay? Don’t-don’t think of this, think of what she told you, about courage, yes? And keep your eyes closed, we will be out of here in a minute!” He promised him, but he wasn’t sure whether he could keep that promise.

Bilbo took a deep breath as he heard how someone tried the door next to them and the stopped. The glasses. _Damn, he should have picked them up._  
Then someone was at their door, covering the key hole with their shadow and the room fell dark for a second before the door was opened and it was imbued in white light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are now - I decided to already build up a stake for you so you can burn me, but I sadly enough have some more bad news: Since I'm going on vacation, there won't be a chapter next week :P but the week after that we will!  
> No, I didn't plan this - and I am terribly sorry, I hope you liked it still :)


	6. Chapter 6

When he had been a little boy, and things had still been easy, he had learned that watching the rain on a cold, windy morning was as soothing as his little sister’s arms. Their garden in York wasn’t big, but they were living in Acomb almost near Knapton: Where their small, overgrown garden ended, the wide, green and rough landscape of Northern England began.

Every morning he took Bailey, the young Golden Retriever he had bought for his nephews, out and into the fields, watching the rain pour down on them and their feet turn brown and muddy in the dark of the winter dawn. It was still early, they boys had still been fast asleep in their beds when he had left with Bailey and they wouldn’tt wake before he was back.  
He had heard Kili’s soft steps, crossing the dark floor to Fili’s room last night. He had heard how they had whispered, how Fili had stolen a book from his library later and read to his little brother. He had heard how Fili had carried him to his room late at night after Kili had fallen asleep in his bed. Thorin had been almost asleep himself then, only Bailey waking him now and then, stirred by the steps on the floor.

He had tried parting them. He had moved Kili’s bedroom to the end of the corridor, near the stairs, having his own room opposite to Fili’s. He had hoped that his younger nephew wouldn’t dare walking by his room at night afraid to wake his uncle, but he still did at least five of seven days per week.

They were absolutely inseparable.  
It seemed as if the time they were forced to spend apart at school, or during any other time of the day, needed to be made up for at night. He rarely found Kili in Fili’s bed in the mornings, only when they both fell asleep during reading and Fili hadn’t carried him back. He had told their therapist about it, that he didn’t like how they were clinging to each other, that he was afraid they wouldn’t be able to be without each other at some point when Fili would leave for college … or if something else happened.

He couldn’t live without that thought anymore. Other people never considered that someone so close and important could die, that a child could die or a mother or a sister. At such a young age.  
He _had_ to consider it. He had lived through it. Unprepared. Once. Twice. And a third time.

But apart from that, Kili was old enough. He had his own room and his own bed. They had made a pretty home for themselves. Thorin wanted him to sleep alone, at least for the greater part of the nights. Dr Renaldi had asked him to be patient, to not ask the boys about it for they would outgrow it and they needed their privacy throughout puberty. He hoped they would, but ever since they had started school, problems had only quadrupled. Kili wasn’t paying much attention in any of his classes, regularly kicking against any of his teachers. The only one that hadn’t carefully complaint yet was Mister Baggins, and he banished every thought about him as often as he could, he had enough trouble already, enough on his mind to worry about, he didn’t need to waste his time pondering about Bilbo Baggins.

He had enough to worry about, because while Kili seemed to be as loud as trumpet, rebelling and unmistakable, Fili was merely touching the keys on a piano, playing without sound, silently, locked away in his own world, far from any voice that could call him and ever reach his ears. As much as Kili worried him with his continuous revolting, with his music box and clinging to Fili – the older one concerned him much more. No one but Kili ever entered his world. He never talked much, neither at school nor at home. He never brought home any friends and he never saw him with anyone at Erebor. He had tried asking him about it, but Fili never seemed to react much on it. There could not have been a more extreme difference. And still they seemed to be dependent on each other.

Thorin massaged the ridge of his nose as Bailey came running back to him, jumping through the mud gaily as if nothing could ever could her mood. He bent down to her, caressing her head and ears while she was panting and enjoying his attention. The lady dog had made many of his days better. She soothed him when he needed repose and she woke him when he was lethargic. He had bought her for the boys, but in the end, it was him that depended on her most. He was even thinking about taking her to work with him so she could keep him company when he wasn’t teaching.

Fili was, much to his surprise, already awake when he returned to the house. He left his muddy shoes outside and watched Fili at the table, drinking a cup of tea and reading something he couldn’t identify from the garden door but seemed to be the little yellow book he had been carrying around for the past days.

“Stop Bailey, no!” He tried to hold the dog back when she tried to hop inside – her feet were so grubby he wanted to hose them with the water tube before she ruined their hardwood floor. He barely caught her at the collar and Bailey howled but stayed with him.

“Is your brother up yet?” He asked Fili while he was cleaning Bailey’s paws with the garden hose.

“No he’s still sleeping,” Fili denied and came a little closer, watching the golden dog dance on the stones. The rain had stopped by now, but both Thorin and Bailey were soaked.

“Shall I get a towel for Bailey?” He asked and Thorin nodded before Fili turned around, walking towards the bathroom next to the kitchen.

While Bailey was turning and turning and either enjoying or loathing the water, Thorin’s glance fell one the small living room table next to the window behind Bailey and the grey folder he had gotten from James a few days ago. Thorin gasped and let his head sink – he didn’t even want to think about it.

_“You’re doing so much for the boys, you need help yourself.”_

Thorin could vividly remember the morning a few days ago, it had been the day of Gandalf’s leave. He had eyed the grey folder suspiciously, it looked so anonymous it could only be something _delicate_.

_“I’m okay, whatever it is, you can keep it.”_

_“You look horrible. You don’t sleep, you barely eat and I haven’t seen you smile in a year.”_

Thorin had turned to him then and sighed.

_“I know it’s not easy, but look at it at least.”_

James knew he didn’t like discussing things like these in public. That was why he had taken it from eventually, earning a slap on his shoulder and his peace – but now it was just laying waste underneath other brochures and magazines that had been heedlessly tossed on top of it and he hadn’t even given it a single look. He expected a leaflet about another support-group for widowers or “ _individuals who have suffered from loss_ ” and he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t need any help, he was doing good. He just cared for his _privacy_.

Thorin had no chance to remember the night he had been startled by the small man with the blonde hair and his books, for Fili came back and handed him the towel for Bailey. Thorin denied the nights he stayed at school longer not for work but for Desiree, he never thought of them and he never spoke about them to anyone. They simply did not exist, neither for him nor for his environment.

All the more angry had he been when the man, that was already interfering with his life in ways he grandly disliked, had spied on him on that last night he had stayed at Erebor longer.  
Now, that Fili watched him dry the dog, his thoughts nevertheless travelled to the German and Latin teacher he had not agreed to hire. The level of disrespect he brought forward was inacceptable, the way he seemed to use every opportunity to barge in was non-comprehensible and Thorin was glad when he didn’t have to see him for a day or two. He didn’t belong in Erebor, he made him feel uncomfortable and destroyed every routine he was hoping to rebuild, routine he so desperately needed.

From the corner of his eyes he saw his younger nephew ascending the stairs, yawning and walking to Fili’s side. He was still tired and snuggled into his brother. Fili put his right arm around him but kept his glare on Bailey who was enjoying Thorin’s caresses before he let her trudge inside passing the boys.

“Breakfast?” He asked Kili but the boy only shook his head.

“Kaiserschmarren?” Fili asked, looking down to his little brother.

Thorin eyed them curiously as Kili looked up and started smiling, nodding and letting go of his brother. As far as he knew, Kaiserschmarren was something their mother had made for them when they had still lived in Austria. It looked like torn pancakes but Kili only ate it when Fili had prepared them.

“You sure toast and eggs won’t do?” Thorin tried, but Kili only shook his head and walked to the kitchen.

Fili shrugged and took the towel from his uncle.

“Wash your hands before you go to the kitchen and make something for yourself too.”

“Do _you_ want anything?” Fili asked, giving the towel back to Thorin.

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

They didn’t speak much more after that. He sat opposite them at the dining table morning after morning, the white windows to the garden at his back, entirely unable to say something while his nephews were eating, peaking at their books or the television or talking to each other. That day wasn’t much different. Fili made the pancakes for his brother and started reading again while the younger one ate.

Over the edge of his newspaper, Thorin finally saw how Fili’s face lit up at once and he began to copy something from the small, yellow book, mumbling something in a language he clearly identified as something else than English.

Kili bent over to him, but Fili made him eat up first and told him it wasn’t any of his business.

“What is that?” Thorin finally asked.

“Just something for school,” was the only answer he got before Fili left the table, moving up the stairs.

Kili followed him after he had eaten, he needed to get dressed, he was still in his pyjamas and it was already time to leave soon.

Bailey had seated herself on the couch, apparently exactly on the remote control, because all of a sudden the television switched on and he heard a news lady blaring from the speakers.

“... and we are hoping for a sunny day in Northern England, today on this brilliant October 19th, Yara back to you...”

He didn’t much listen to it because instead of the normal pattering of feet, he only heard the photocopier in his study from above.

“Fili? Kili? Are you getting ready?” He asked from downstairs loudly, packing his bags after he had moved Bailey and switched off the telly again.

“Almost!” He heard one of them, which one he couldn’t identify, yell back loudly from above mixing in with the copier.

Still, only a few minutes later they were both neatly dressed and presentable putting on their shoes on the landing, both wearing their school uniforms and having their bags packed and ready.  
For a moment he looked at them, how they were still tired and weary in their faces. A small thought crawled inside his mind. Maybe, maybe they should go to the beach. Skip school today and spend a day together. They could take the car, drive west until they reached the ocean. Maybe it would be good for them. Give them a break.

He paused for a moment until he let out a short breath, and along with the breath, the thought left him, marked as irrelevant and asinine next to completely impossible.

“What did you copy?” Thorin asked instead when they were leaving the house, walking to the car.

“Just something for school,” his nephew answered when he climbed into the front seat next to Thorin.

He was sure that the boy was hiding something from him. He had been carrying around that little, yellow book for weeks and Thorin never had a chance to get a hold of it. He evaded his uncle’s questions, but – just as it was with so many other matters – he was helpless. When Fili refused to respond, he couldn’t do much but leaving him alone, he simply was at the end of his tether.

 

They were the first at the school and it was still so early, they saw how the last night guards left, leaving only one man in the gate house. He must have been new, Thorin thought, because he couldn’t recall seeing him before.

He quickly forgot about him however, parking right in front of the building and opening the school for himself and the boys. They usually stayed with him at his office before school started. An exception was when they were fighting. It hadn’t occurred very often yet and never with Fili. However, Kili had taken the bus in the morning twice and Thorin still remembered the evening he had raced into town with Fili, getting his younger nephew from the cafe Mister Baggins had taken him to.  
They also took the bus when he had to _work_ late or was attending a conference, Clara, the student from next door looked after them then.

 

 _That morning_ had been more than usual. After 7:30, more and more cars started filling the gravelled parking lot in front of the school. Thorin was just up on the second floor to get a book from the Science-Library, when he watched Mister Baggins’ car driving into the lot. He lingered and watched the small man getting out of it, grabbing his bag from the backseat and taking a look around. He seemed to smile, Thorin thought, but as he disappeared beneath him in the building, he turned back to the books, happily forgetting about him again.

He wouldn’t have to teach until the third class of the day and wanted to use the time to prepare an experiment for his A-Level students. The bell had already gone when he returned to his office, leaving it empty. The only trace left of his nephews was Kili’s German book on his desk. He gasped annoyed and put it in his shelf, the boy regularly forgot his stuff in Thorin’s office. He would come back later to pick it up, Thorin guessed, at the latest when the respective class was beginning.  
Kili used every chance to get away from class, Thorin was just surprise to find his German book this time, it usually was either Math or Chemistry, much to his dismay. He left his office unlocked then, Kili would know where to find the book in the shelf.

It was still cold in the auditorium when he entered it. He first approached the heat underneath the windows (the science-rooms had huge, square-shaped windows that had been installed a few years ago) and turned it up so he wouldn’t freeze unnecessarily.

He stayed alone for at least another hour, working undisturbed. He was almost startled when he heard a knock on the door, followed by the sound of the school bell that started the next class

“Yes?” he asked and left the desk, walking towards the door and opening it.

It was James, leaning in the door frame; arms crossed and giving Thorin his usual, slightly questioning look.

“You busy?” He asked.

Thorin looked back into the room before he answered and walked back to his desk to watch the saltpetre in the distillation flask.

“No, come in. Anything wrong?”

Dwalin closed the door behind him and came to lean against the first row of seats, opposite to Thorin and separated from him by two meters of floor and the desk.

“Did you call them?”

Thorin looked up from the saltpetre.

“Who?”

James eyed him angrily for a short moment, disappointment and rage mixing in.

“Did you even read it?” He asked reproachfully, but Thorin only answered with a huff, bending back down to the saltpetre and taking notes for his class.

“You know, I don’t wanna bully you, I’m just trying to help you. I don’t expect you to become a goofball and open the school with a broad smile every day, you’ve always had your edges, we all do. But ever since you’re back, you’re hostile, rough, picking fights-“

“Picking fights?” Thorin interrupted him, crossing his arms and looking at his best friend curiously.

“Yes, you are picking fights, even if you seem to live in your bubble, the rest of us isn’t blind,” James argued, his voice had gotten slightly louder, “or deaf.”

“I’m not fighting with anyone,” Thorin grumbled, adjusting his Bunsen burner, not willing to engage in any discussion, he had enough to do.

“What about Misterr Baggins then?” James taunted, coming closer.

“What about him?” all of a sudden, Thorin’s voice was cutting now, he left the Bunsen burner alone, plunking it on the table and looking right at his best friend. He had touched a raw nerve, even if Thorin hated to admit that.

“It’s a school, _Thorin_ , people talk, and you’ve chosen everybody’s darling as your personal punching ball.”

“That is **not** true,” Thorin roared enraged, “ _He_ came spying on me, _he_ is putting bugs into the boys’ ears and _he_ takes the liberty to interfere with me every time he deems it convenient!”

Dwalin eyed him for a second.

“Oh my, what terrible thing has he done?” He asked then, sarcasm filling his voice.

“He doesn’t belong here! He doesn’t fit with us, neither with the students nor the teachers and he-” Thorin started, his voice loud and completely distracting from the fact that somewhere, deep down inside, he had no rational answer himself.  
It might have been fear, fear to lose control over the last pieces and bits that were still holding his life together. He knew everyone else, he had employed them himself, all of them, even the cleaning staff. Their characters and personal traits all fitted together well, and most importantly, they fit with his. Mister Baggins didn’t. He was cheery, open, nosy and a danger to every routine he was so desperately clinging to. And the boys liked him. It looked so easy when they said hello to him in the mornings or talked to him on the corridors. They barely knew him and yet, the got along better than he ever had.

A loud, high pitched sound released Thorin from every second try to give a reasonable answer.

James was the first of the two of them to look up to the ceiling, a riposte quickly forgotten on the tip of his tongue. Thorin instantly forgot about their argument when he followed his glare, more an inner reflex than a reasoned motion.

“Is that the alarm system?” James asked, pointing at Thorin’s breadboard and the saltpetre.

“It’s not the bio-alarm,” Thorin mumbled after a low pitched sound followed and looked to the door.

He had decided for those alarm sounds himself, they had installed them after his instruction. He knew the three different sound sequences by heart and his breath stuck in his throat when a last, low pitched sound resonated. All other argument was long forgotten about by then.

A small little thought crept into his mind, a little prayer, an ask for succour to something, or more precisely _someone,_ he usually only believed in from 7 to 5 – it was subconscious, really, like a reflex. He had read about Columbine, Winnenden and Connecticut, he had visited at least five seminars about ... _well, what about?_ Rampage-management? It seemed ridiculous now, that he was standing, no actually sitting, behind that door next to James who was securely locking it, with a lunatic somewhere in his school, a lunatic he had thankfully not heard shooting yet (or did they overhear them during their fight? – he couldn’t tell).

“Get over there!” James ripped him from his thoughts, taking a hold of Thorin’s pullover and shoving him away from the door to the chairs, “and stay down for God’s sake!”

Only then he realized what a killing spree in his school meant.

“The boys!”

“They’re fine with their teachers, someone probably hit the button by accident, don’t worry,” James tried to calm him down but all calmness was gone.

These last pieces and bits that were holding his life together? He wished it had been Mister Baggins to wipe them away, Mister Baggins with his disrespectful behaviour, his spying and unwelcome intrusions – all that, but not a rampage. He instantly felt helpless again, as helpless as the day they had told him his sister had died.

_“There were no survivors.”_

He had tried to build it all up again after Frerin’s death, for Dis and for the boys – and he had started yet again after their mother had died, leaving him with two, barely teenage orphans, his nephews who he – yes – loved, but definitely wasn’t able to be a parent for.

He knew that James was looking at him, he knew he was staring.  
And he knew he wouldn’t see anything.  
Because if there was one thing he had learned over the years, was how to build up a wall and paint a face on it.

He knew how to pretend to know the Bible by heart, he knew how to pretend to be alright – he even knew how to pretend to by angry. He just had no clue how to come out of hiding again.

What if something would happen or had already happened to Kili and Fili? His thoughts were racing, what classes would they have right now? Where would they be? He remembered having a quick look at their timetables this morning when he was leaving with Bailey, Fili would be at his history class right now with Henry Bofur not to far from where he and James were right now. He would be okay, Henry loved his students and no matter what jokester he could be, he wasn’t able to take a joke when it came to ... moments like this.

However, for the love of God, he couldn’t remember where Kili would be right now. Wasn’t he supposed to be with Henry as well? Or was that his first class? What time was it anyway? Thorin looked at the clock on the wall. Quarter past five and standing still. Of course.

He looked over to Dwalin who had his head in his right hand, massaging his temples. It came all of a sudden and it neither lightened nor clouded the mood, but it somehow _moved_ it.

“When we are out of here, you will call them, and you will go to the meetings, and I will check up on you.”

It made Thorin grin still. Dwalin looked up, his glare signalizing that he wasn’t mocking or joking and the grin disappeared and he came back to remembering Kili’s timetable for today and the book he had forgotten in his office in the morning.

_Deutsch 1 – Für Erstlernende._

He was in his German class right now, together with Mister Baggins and his assistant.

He didn’t know whether the fact that Kili was with _him_ was making it worse, better or didn’t change anything at all. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Only now he felt his heart pounding hard and irksomely inside his chest, faster and more hammering with every beat. He heard the blood in his ears. It was so silent in the auditorium, but unbelievably gloomy.

“I was thinking about driving to the ocean today with the boys,” he silently whispered.

James looked at him again.

“I really considered it for a moment before we left,” Thorin looked at his hands and remembered the fleeting memory from a hours ago, when they were standing in the small hallway, ready to leave the house, and he had lingered there in the doorway, looking at their sleepy faces.

He loved them so much.

“Why didn’t you?” James whispered back.

“Reason? We can’t just disappear for a day.”

“Would have saved you a lot of trouble,” he grinned sarcastically, looking into the weak sunlight coming consolingly from the windows behind Thorin, who turned around. _Wasn’t it curious, that on such a day, the sun was shining after so many days of rain?_

Dwalin pointed at it, sharing the same thought.

“It’s as if HE’s trying to tell us we’re not alone.”

Thorin didn’t look up but let a false smile show. Why was he of all men headmaster at a Christian school? Dwalin would have done a better job. Even Bofur had, or Dori. Someday, someday they would come to him and ask him to leave because he wasn’t faithful enough for them, and even worse, remained unmarried.

“You’d do so much better if you’d at least open yourself to it.”

“Let’s not have a theological discussion right now,” Thorin sighed silently and looked up, where James was soothingly holding his hands up.

“Alright, just saying.”

They stayed quiet then for a while, listening to the silence and letting the time pass. They never heard a thing from outside. After a while, Thorin began thinking that someone had really pushed the button accidentally. Every child at Erebor knew, that setting off any kind of alarm on purpose with no danger in delay, would automatically mean a final expulsion from school and these children were too determined to stay to commit such a deed. They would have to find out later and whatever was behind this, the coming days and weeks would be an agony. He would either be burying students or looking for the kid that had sat the damn system off. For now, it just didn’t feel dangerous.

“Did you hear that?” James suddenly pulled him out of his thoughts and Thorin looked to the door.

There were steps, loud steps.

But before they could debate whether it was the possible attacker or the police, they heard a loud voice from behind the door.

“Leeds Police Department, is anyone in there?”

“Yes!” Both of them yelled at the same time.

“We will open up the door now, stay back!” It came again, followed by two loud cracks before the door opened.

There were four men, all dressed in black and wearing helmets. The one closest to them held an axe.

“Is anyone else in the room?” The man asked.

“No, just the two of us,” James answered.

“Can you leave the chemicals unattended?” He pointed at the desk.

Thorin nodded and they were asked to follow the men who made them duck as soon as they had left the room. About halfway through the school, the four men split up again, two of them making a right for another floor of classrooms while the other two stayed with them. They stopped at every corner, waiting for the men to tell them to proceed. Only now it felt dangerous again, as if they were in a labyrinth, followed by a dragon that could catch them any minute.

Thorin felt how his pulse was increasing, his heart painfully fast pumping blood through his body and causing a strange humming in his ears. All he wanted was to see his nephews among the children outside, waiting for him to return. He would take them and go home and tomorrow they would go to the beach, or to the woods at least, away from York, away from Erebor, Thorin thought when the school door finally came into eyesight.

 

The sunlight in the yard was neither pleasant nor comforting. It was so glaring, both of them had to squint at first, getting used to it before they could really open their eyes.  
Another few men took them when they stepped through the door, hastily walking them away from the building and into the yard.

Hell had broken lose. He heard it first, his eyes still closed, but then he saw them.

It were maybe three quaters of the Erebor student body, all hushed together and slowly spreading out. Some were crying, holding others, maybe siblings, boyfriends or girlfriends that were only reunited with now, that they were outside and possibly secure. Some of the younger ones were sitting on the ground, heads on their knees just like Kili did when he was weeping.

 _Kili and Fili!_ He needed to find them.

At first he saw Lily though, her head in Henry Bofur’s neck, leaning against him. Next to them stood Doctor Dori and Mister Balin, all looking tired, haunted and done for the day. He gave them a short nod that only Lily returned, before he quickly turned to look for his nephews.

Most classes had dissolved even though the policemen outside where yelling to keep them together. He saw some of the teaching assistants here and there, standing next to some of the children, holding them close and talking to them. Soon, the first parents would be driving out here, he saw some students on their phones, others had went away to the lawns, sitting down alone or with their friends to gain some privacy. Some were running around, still trying to find someone. The whole yard was filled with noise. Muffled crying, hectic talking and words that tried to be soothing, but sounded frightened themselves. Two ambulances had parked next to the other cars, but it didn’t seem as if anybody was treated inside apart from a few students that were sitting half outside, blankets around their bodies and the MEs taking care of them.

It was a mess. He wouldn’t have found Fili himself, had the boy not yelled for him as soon as he saw him. Only moments later he came running towards him, his blonde hair all in disarray, his cheeks flushed. He looked as if he had cried.

Thorin bent down a little then, taking him into his arms and felt a rock falling from his chest and Fili hugged him tightly. He was shaking still and his hands were ice cold.

“Are you okay?” Thorin whispered, looking at him, worried and glad all the same, stoking his nephew’s hair carefully.

“Ye-yes, they-they brought us out first,” Fili answered, pressing his face into his uncle’s chest.

“Is anybody hurt?”

Fili shook his head, sniffing a little and looking up to him.  
Thorin fell silent for a moment, thankful that he seemed to have gotten away with a shock. It seemed to be unfair still. They had been through enough in their young lives, they didn’t need a killing-spree-experience, not that anybody did.

“Did you see Kili?”

Thorin was still deep in his thoughts when Fili freed himself from him, stepping back a little but still staying close. It only struck him then: Kili wasn’t with them. He must have been too happy to see his elder nephew too notice the absence of the younger one. But why? He knew the two of them, they were like magnets, they would have found each other had Kili been outside with them, wouldn’t they?

“What class did he have last?” Thorin tried to concentrate.

“German with Mister Baggins and Mister Ori,” Fili replied, looking around for any of Kili’s classmates.

It didn’t take too long until Thorin’s attention was caught by the sound of the door and new footsteps coming from the school entrance. Three police men were escorting a new group of students out of the building. They were young, second years at least and all of them were holding hands until they reached the yard. The last one to leave the building was Aaron Ori, Mister Baggins’ teaching assistant.

He wore one of his grey cardigans, his red hair was gleaming in the sunlight and he was carrying one of the children.

“You stay with James!” Thorin said sternly when he saw Dwalin approaching them.

Fili seemed to disagree but his yelling got lost in the noisy crowd as Thorin ran through it, trying to not lose Aaron, who was following his students. An uncanny feeling settled in his stomach as he realized that Mister Baggins wasn’t with them and that Kili also wasn’t among the students.

“Aaron!”

The young man turned around when he heard Thorin’s voice behind them. A girl was in his arms, she didn’t look exceptionally hurt, but she was as small as Kili and cried.

“Professor Durin, good to see you are alright!” He stammered, patting the girl’s hair. He looked as if he was going to collapse any minute.

“Where is Kili?”

“I-I don’t know,” he answered, “he left the room before, before we heard the gun shots.”

“Gun shots?” So it hadn’t been an accident. Thorin felt how his guts twisted inside him.

“Yes,” He tried to put his glasses in order, “Three – or maybe four, Kili told Mister Baggins he had forgotten his book and left for Mister Bofur’s classroom to get it. Mister Baggins went after him to get him, but they never came back!”

The rock that had been lifted from his heart when he had found Fili was slowly pressing his lungs together again. Aaron looked horrible, weak and still holding up the girl.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know where they are,” he peeped when he sat the girl down, “I thought they had found them already.”

Thorin didn’t hear much of what he said. His ears were filled with white noise, as if he had been to a loud concert the evening before and his ears were still somewhat deaf. He turned around quickly, walking in the direction of the school entrance. Somewhere behind him he heard Fili scream his name, but he didn’t listen. He also didn’t listen to the policemen until one of them caught his arm.

“Sir, please get away from the door, we haven’t cleared the building yet,” the man underneath the helmet said.

“My nephew is in there somewhere, he’s not here,” Thorin argued, his voice stern but not loud, concentrated – which actually surprised him, he had thought he had screamed at the man instead.

He looked to the door.

“Is anybody else missing still?”

“His teacher,” Thorin turned to the door again making another step.

“Sir, we haven’t found any victims yet, nor have we found the gunman, I would strongly advise you to stay here with me!”

Thorin was about to object, more loudly this time, but the man took up a radio device.

“0-1-0, have you found a single teacher with a student? Over.”

Noise came from the radio.

“Negative. Not in that combination. Over.”

There was noise again until the speaker seemed to add something.

“Building is cleared. Over.”

The caller hadn’t even finished when Thorin stormed inside the school, leaving the rest of the students and teachers behind him. Not even a bulldozer would have been able to stop him. He heard how the police man followed him, still talking on his radio but keeping up with Thorin’s pace. He was also talking to him, or more precisely yelling at him, but he didn’t listen.

Henry Bofur had his room near the rear house which was closer to the entrance than Mister Baggins classroom. He would start there, opening every door between the two rooms. They were hiding, he was sure of that. There was no other option. Every other option was worse.

Bofur’s room had been opened with an axe as well. The heavy, wooden door was spiked with violent marks. Inside, someone had moved the tables. He could imagine where they had sat, all beneath the windows next to the board, cowering in the corner. Thorin let out a long breath before he turned around, leaving his involuntary company behind.  
He walked fast, trying every doorknob he found. He had never seen the school so silent, not even after classes. And still, it was a foolish silence, with all those people outside, afraid and hoping to get away from it as soon as possible.

He ignored that thought though, and everything he would have to worry about in the coming days and weeks. When he reached a long floor that mainly held offices and that wasn’t even too far away from his own room, all he thought about was Kili and how he had wronged him, how he had yelled at him and punished him for... for what? Clinging to his mother’s music box? Fighting with a classmate? He was a boy, for heaven’s sake, it was normal! Perfectly normal! He would apologize as soon as he saw him, and he would not let it happen again.

Thorin had already tried the fifth door on the corridor, the police man still following him, when something small, down on the floor caught his eye.

It was a familiar pair of glasses, old and kind, like nobody else would ever wear them. Nobody but Bilbo Baggins.

Thorin’s glance fell on the next door. It was inconspicuous and white. As far as he knew, nothing but a small storeroom lay behind it, but a convenient cranny nevertheless.

He took one last breath before he put his sweaty hand on the doorknob, his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth turning dry. Then he opened the door with one, strong pull.

Inside, Mister Baggins half stood and half kneeled only a meter away from the opposite wall. He had one hand up, the light must have been a pain in his eyes, for the room was dark and the light bulb seemed to have forsaken him. He saw how his tensed muscles seemed to relax as soon as he saw that it was in fact him who had opened the door, and not the attacker.

_“Uncle?”_

He heard a small voice peep behind Mister Baggins and a moment later a small figure emerged from the shadows, running towards him, crying his name loudly and holding him fast. Thorin lifted him up quickly, Kili was half covered in dust, while his companion stepped inside the room, looking after Mister Baggins.  
Kili had buried his head in his neck by then, crying loudly into his shoulder. Thorin wanted to say something, to both of them, but he was simply losing all of his words.

_Thank you. Thank you so much. I found you. I’m glad I found you. I’m so entirely happy I found you. I wronged you. You belong with us. You and your brother are all I have. I am so sorry. I am so very sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I know you didn’t mean it. I hate to be weak._

None of his thoughts ever left his lips and he pressed Kili close to him, his heart was calming then, the deafness seemed to fade. He looked at the small man in the room before them. His knees were shaking as the officer helped him up and asked him if he was alright. He nodded then, his golden hair gleaming in a small ray of the midday sun. He looked as if he was fading and their eyes met for a second, just as they had on his very first day back, when he had spotted a stranger among his teachers. Mister Baggins looked down then, catching himself and making a few, weak steps, breathing heavily.

Thorin heard how the police man talked into his radio device again. Kili was so loud next to his ear, he didn’t understand what it was, but afterwards he asked them to follow him outside, the shooter was still not found and more police was pouring in now, ready to search the school a second time.

They walked, all next to each other, in silence. Thorin still carried Kili, rubbing his small back. The only things he managed to say were, _It’s alright, I’m here, Fili is waiting for us outside, It’s over, No need to cry._ The boy was crying still, but not screaming so much anymore. He had him back, that was all that mattered.

A second time then, they finally stepped out through the door and into the light of the unusually bright day. Bilbo went out first and Thorin saw Henry and Lily rushing through the crowd and towards them. Some students were clapping. He didn’t know what for. Next was Fili, yelling their names and running as fast as he could. Thorin let Kili go then; he was getting louder again, hugging his brother tightly and crying harder than before. Fili was a much better consoler than Thorin was.

He was so happy to have them both back.

Only when he saw how the boys sunk down to the ground and a paramedic approached them, his glance found Bilbo again.

He sat on a pillar, surrounded by another paramedic, Bofur and Lily, who were putting a blanket on his shoulders. He looked so lost and tired, trying to fight them off and explain that he was alright and just needed some rest.

Something, something very small and warm stung inside his heart.

He had called that man an intruder. Disrespectful. That neither his concern nor his presence were appreciated and that he didn’t belong with them.

_What fool had he been._

With long, fast strides he approached the little group and as if it was a reflex, Bilbo jumped up, his face blank, as if he was waiting for another philippic and his blanket falling off his shoulders.

“You!” Thorin roared, “Are you out of your mind?”

He saw how Bilbo swallowed the air in his mouth and his face turned even paler.

"Why would you do that? He could have killed you! _In case of any kind of attack, all teachers lock their rooms and stay with their student_ ," he recited, "is that not clear enough for you?"

He saw how Bilbo gulped. This had come out too hard.

“Didn't I tell you that you didn’t belong here, that you only cause trouble?” His voice was loud, frightening and stern. He didn’t want it to be, but his heart was racing again.  
He wasn’t sure what for.

“I-I was merely-“ Bilbo peeped, trying to explain himself, fright in his eyes. And that sight of his brave, little Latin teacher made him crack.

“I am so sorry,” Thorin stepped closer, putting both arms around the smaller man, “I’ve been so wrong. Thank you, thank you so much.” His voice wasa mere whisper.

He didn’t deserve so much mercy. He really didn’t. He was a foolish man and a cold one too. He didn’t deserve the feeling of Bilbo quickly putting his arms on his back, returning the embrace. And he didn’t deserve the warmth he felt, for once in eternity, and how every muscle in his body slowly relaxed and his mind cleared. There was no way he deserved that.

They parted quickly again, Thorin looking down on his opposite. Bilbo’s legs were still shaking but he seemed to be alright. No blood and no bruises as far as he could see.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, silently and for nobody else to hear, even though half the school was staring at them, “I never wanted to appear as nosy and I certainly didn’t want to intrude.”

All Thorin could reply was a nod and a small smile, before Bilbo needed to sit down again and one of the paramedics handed him an oxygen mask Thorin hadn’t noticed before.

 

Another hour passed before the remaining students and teachers were asked to go to the chapel and wait there to be picked up or questioned by the police. A great amount of parents had already poured in then, taking their children home. Another two cars of police officers, non-uniformed this time, had also arrived by then and the staff had been asked to stay in any case.

As soon as Kili had calmed down a little he had asked for Mister Baggins and stayed by his side ever since. Together the four of them walked into the church as some of the last who had remained outside. Bilbo was carrying Kili. Tired from crying and all the turmoil, the boy had fallen asleep in his arms. Thorin and Fili were following them as they walked right to the front, sitting down in an empty row. It was past midday by then and the sun had hid again, but not before shining through the big rose window above the altar for one more time, imbuing the church in a colourful and comforting light.

As soon as they sat, Fili’s head fell against Bilbo’s shoulder too, making two sleeping boys of them. Bilbo first looked at him and then up to Thorin, giving him a gentle but very tired smile.

“I think they need some rest,” he whispered and Thorin nodded, putting and arm around Fili and returning the smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I owe all of you an apology. I got sick on my vacation and didn't get to write this chapter when I had actually wanted to. I've been trying very hard to keep my one-week pace and I will still go on with that :)  
> Anyway, here we are now. I really wanted to write this chapter from Thorin's point of view, especially the scene where he opens the chamber and frees Kili and Bilbo, not without scaring them to death of course. There might be another Thorin-Chapter but we will see about that as we proceed, I'm not quite sure yet. AND HEY WE FINALLY HAD SOME BAGGINSHIELD! But don't assume everything's happy and great now, hahaha, no, this is Thorin we're speaking about. A weak second of thankfulness doesn't mean a catharsis.


	7. Chapter 7

 

“Fili?”

Light steps on the floor were what woke him.

“Fili, are you sleeping?” The weak voice tried again.

“No, what’s it?” he finally replied.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Again?”

“I’m sorry.”

He moaned.

“Come here,” he lifted his blanket so his younger brother could climb into his bed in the darkness. He quickly felt how Kili crept up closer to him and snuggled against his chest.

“You need to tell Uncle or Doctor Renaldi if you can’t sleep alone anymore.”

He felt how Kili shook his head.

“Kili I won’t be here forever, you need to learn how to sleep alone.”

“No, you can be here always.”

He put both arms around his little brother and hugged him tightly, putting his head on his and swallowing a single tear.

“No, no I can’t. No one can.”  
  
He was not ever going to let him go.

 

 

The school remained closed for another week and a few days. Right after the Special Forces had left, a second brigade police men and women had arrived at the school, a few women and men, all plain-clothed, investigators rather than a rapid response team.

They had searched the whole estate again, inside and outside, but didn’t find any victims.  
Nobody had been hurt, nobody killed – and what was even more curious – nobody had been shot at. Not a single student, staff member or teacher reported to have seen the shooter or being aimed at. Many had heard the shots, some louder than others and some classrooms had only taken shelter when the alarm had gone off. An alarm, that no one could recall setting off.  
They didn’t find any bullet holes, no husks, no shooter and no gun. Nobody could explain how he had gotten into the school or onto the property.  
At least that was the last information Bilbo had gotten a few days ago, when he had talked to Henry on the phone. The whole day seemed to be one, large mystery.  
No teacher was allowed to retrieve anything from their offices; the whole property was under lockdown and only police could enter or exit. However, they had been told that they would be called and asked to appear at the school for interrogation at some point. Bilbo was sure they had even given more information, but it had been late then, and Kili had slept on his lap in the church, being heavy and making him tired too. Eventually, they had called him and the others, asked them to come to school on Friday the week after the worst day.

Bilbo left his apartment early in the morning when a light rain had been in the air, not much more than little mist drops, but cold and wet and hostile. It had only just started to dawn then, the sky still grey and dark, colourless whitewashed in bleak splashes of nothing.  
As he tiredly drove from York out into the countryside he left the radio turned off, only looking at the muddy road and the dying landscape around.  
The clouds opened a little halfway past York, but no sun shone through it.  
 _Sun._  
The Sun had shun then of course, the mere thought of it now brought a small smile to his lips, seeing Thorin with his pretty, yellow dog in the park, so different from all the other times he had met him – _what had been her name again? Beagle? Or Bailey? Something of that kind._

Bilbo had sat on a bench in Coffort Park, trying to relax and reading a book only a few days after the worst day. And – _well_ – at some point a Golden Retriever had nudged his leg.

“And what are you doing here?” he had asked the lady-dog, reading her name tag and petting her, putting the boring books aside, “who do you belong to?”

Nobody had been in sight, only a few people, far away from him, relaxing or picnicking on the lawn, but none of them seemed to be looking for a dog. Where had she come from? She hadn’t looked like leaving anytime soon, comfortably resting her head on Bilbo’s left knee. She only turned around when she had seemed to have heard her name, a clear voice, coming from the forest-path behind Bilbo leading up to the bench.

“Bailey!”

When Bilbo had turned around, he had seen the man belonging to the voice, jogging towards them on the path. It was Thorin, wearing a loose, blue shirt, jeans and a black, tight fitting leather jacket. He was a little out of breath, his mouth agape with surprise when he saw Bilbo.

“I’m so sorry she bothered you,” he apologized, scratching his neck and coming closer.

“O-Oh no! Please don’t worry, she is very well behaved,” he petted her again, Thorin walking around the bench putting her on the leach again and upbraiding her before a short, awkward silence took over.  
They both started speaking at the same time, only to make it even more awkward, but then Bilbo let out a short laugh and a small, but warm and honest smile appeared on Thorin’s face, followed by another silence, less awkward this time.

“I wanted to thank you again,” he calmly said, bending down and petting Bailey, “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t gone after Kili.”

He seemed a little out of words, trying to form coherent sentences and being grateful in his usual cold and reticent way. He never looked at Bilbo, only fondling Bailey’s head and ears while the sun made her yellow mane sparkle and glimmer in the light.

“I couldn’t leave him alone out there,” Bilbo replied with a silent voice, “no child deserves... something like that.” He didn’t know whether he was referring to their mother’s death or the rampage or the combination of both, but it didn’t seem to matter much right there and then.

“You didn’t have to, and still you did, and...” he again seemed to be looking for words, “and especially after... my inappropriate behaviour-” from the way he turned his face, Bilbo could see that it made him feel uncomfortable beyond repair.

“You had your reasons,” Bilbo interrupted him, “I would have probably treated myself the same, and your actions should not have any influence on how _I_ treat my students,” Bilbo tried a small, encouraging smile.

Thorin seemed relived, letting a long breath out and nodding absentminded, but thankfully.

“Where are they anyway?” Bilbo asked when he noticed that Thorin was not accompanied by his nephews.

“Oh, Kili is at Manchester with one of... Dis’, his mother’s, old friends and Fili is with his piano teacher.”

Bilbo nodded, patting Bailey again, while she was licking his left hand.

“How are they doing?”

Thorin sighed and hiked his shoulders, looking away to the lawn and a small isle with trees in its middle. Bilbo let his book finally sink, placing it on the bench and folding his hands.

“Fine, under the circumstances” he seemed undecided and puzzled.

Bilbo hadn’t known what to reply then. He hadn’t seen them in a few days and they had slept most of the time on the drive back home on the worst day. He had been worried about them then, Kili snuggled into Fili’s arms, both brothers holding on to one another tightly.

They still worried him, now that the school was coming into eyesight and Bilbo came back to reality, the clouds above him ready to empty themselves on the landscape any minute now. Their little encounter had been relieving, even though Bilbo had felt overwhelmed by Thorin’s sudden embrace at the school, meeting him again at the park had made it feel more real and natural. Maybe, when this nightmare would end, they could have a second try at making it work. Teach and work alongside each other, for the boys, _of course_ , and for a general... peacekeeping. Bilbo didn’t want to admit it, but he had found their small and casual encounter in the park quite... pleasant. Even in the repository so many days ago, something had seemed to be holding him back on his smile, he had been more reserved then in comparison to last week. He had liked the turn, even if he wouldn’t admit that, not to himself, and not to anybody else.

When he parked his car, the first serious drops were falling from the skies.  
Two police cars were parked right next to the school, a few more vehicles, that Bilbo knew belonged to different teachers, stood in between there and where he had parked his own Skoda. He quickly took his umbrella out of the trunk, trying to open it while he was running through the rain.  
It was busy inside the main hall. He heard their voices from the moment he opened the door. They were all standing in the hall, teachers and staff, some students even, together with people Bilbo didn’t know, policemen and women probably. It was cold inside the building – someone must have turned the heat down, Bilbo thought as he slowly walked towards the middle of the room.

A young, slender, red haired woman stood there, talking to Aaron and taking notes. She wore green pants and a police badge and her hair reached all the way down to her hips where it slightly moved whenever she turned her head. Aaron had his hands in his pockets, regularly shrugging while he was talking although Bilbo didn’t understand a word, they were too far away and there was too much noise in the hall. He felt utterly lost. Lost, until he heard a familiar, clear voice calling his name from the stairs on the right side and he turned around.

Thorin was descending them, behind him a tall, black haired man with big glasses. Bilbo could tell from the badge on his belt, that he must have been with the police too, but he looked ordinary, maybe a little genteel in his grey shirt and black suit and dark shoes. His face was edged and a little stern, sorrowed almost and his mid-long hair was combed and gelled back while still revealing his curls at his neck.

“This is the colleague I was talking about,” Thorin explained to the man when they had reached Bilbo, “Bilbo, this is Inspector Bartholomé Archer form the Leeds police department.”

The man offered Bilbo his hand and he took it, shaking it swiftly.

“Is everything alright?” He turned to Thorin.

“If you leave out the reason we’re here it is,” the man joked, sliding his glasses up his nose with his right, little finger.

Bilbo sarcastically grinned a little, even though he didn’t intend to.

“I meant in general, did you find anything yet?”

“No, sadly not”, Thorin sighed, crossing his arms, “but I told Inspector Archer that you and Kili saw someone in the corridor before you hid in the chamber.”

A cold shower ran down Bilbo’s spine. He’d rather not gone back to that moment.  
He never wanted to be reminded of that again. Retroactively, it must have been the most frightening ten minutes in all his life, pressing Kili to his chest, praying the boy would be still and not cry while he was trying calm himself down enough to not just collapse on the ground.

“Yes I did,” was all he managed to say, looking down on the floor.

He suddenly felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry to take you back to it,” Thorin said with a calmer voice and Bilbo swallowed when he looked up. He removed his hand from Bilbo’s shoulder quickly, but a warm, comforting feeling stayed there, as if he had only touched his jacket, but also something far beneath it and warmed him up from inside out.

“Not your fault,” Bilbo answered thankfully and looked over to the Inspector, “do you have any questions for me?”

“Yes, I do indeed,” he cleared his throat, “why don’t you take me to that chamber you hid in?”

Bilbo nodded one more time before he turned to Thorin again, maybe awaiting some sign or gesture, but then giving him a short nod too, that the headmaster quickly replied, before leaving Bilbo and the Inspector alone.

“Thank you for coming by the way, we appreciate the help of the staff a lot,” Archer said when they had left the main hall, slowly walking towards the corridor Bilbo and Kili had hid in, “Professor Durin told me that you went after his nephew during the rampage?”

_Oh did he?_

“Ye-Yes, I mean, I couldn’t leave the boy alone,” Bilbo nervously replied.

“That was very courageous of you.”

Here he was again, apparently unable to reply anything useful – he really wasn’t good at being applauded.

“I did what I could,” he said instead, keeping track of the hallways they passed.

“Was that when you saw someone that didn’t belong here?”

“Yes,” Bilbo nodded and looked at the man walking next to him, “I found Professor Durin’s nephew a few corridors in that direction,” he gestured to the hallway he and Kili had come from when they had taken shelter in the little chamber right ahead of them now.

_Oh bugger._

The school was still as calm as it had been on the worst day, but it was darker now, the clouds hiding the sun behind them, and it was much, much colder.  
It still felt frightening and gloomy to look down the same hallway again, as if he had to find that chamber again to hide in it and wait for someone to free them.

“Are you alright?” The inspector asked and scrutinized him.

He must have been shaking a little and as pale as the moon. _Keep yourself on your feet Bilbo Baggins, you’re not gonna faint in front of a policeman._

Bilbo gave him yet another nod in place of words and proceeded through the corridor.

“We hid here,” he pointed at the plant next to the left wall, “we heard steps and didn’t want to make too much noise by getting into the room already.”

“Did you see anything from that position?” The inspector was taking notes of everything Bilbo said.

“Not much, he was...” he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to remember what the man had looked like, he really didn’t want to go back to that moment, his guts suddenly twisting and aching, “he was tall, quite... brawny and he wore black,” Bilbo tried to get a grip of himself, “and bold.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No, no he wore a mask,” for the quarter of a second, the image of the man walking through the hallway before them came back to his mind, revealing a certain detail he had not thought of since that day, “it was one of those Venecian masks, the creepy ones.”

The inspector looked up.

“A _Venecian_ mask?”

“Yes, golden and ... green I think. He was coming from there and walking right,” he gestured in the respective directions of the corridor on the other side.

It took the Inspector a moment to complete his notes and looking at both the plant and the next hallway, but then he turned around twice, observing the doors closely as if he was thinking about something.

“And he was coming from that direction?” He pointed his finger.

“Yes, yes he was,” Bilbo crossed his arms.

“What is in that direction?”

“Classrooms, storerooms, but mainly offices.”

“Offices?”

“Yes, Professor Durin’s office and I think some other teachers from the Science-department have their rooms there, why?”

Bilbo did not get his answer immediately, the Inspector seemed to be thinking and considering something again, fumbling with his glasses and his pen.

“No matter,” he eventually said, putting his glasses back on his nose, “is there anything else you remember?”

Bilbo silently shook his head. He didn’t even have to think about it again. He had stored away most of the memories of that day somewhere in the back of his mind, hiding it behind thick gates that weren’t made for opening. They would come back to him one day, he was sure of that, but for now, I needed them stored away to go one.

“We wouldn’t have any description of the intruder had you not seen him, Professor Durin’s nephew could only remember seeing someone or something, but no details,” he made a short pause, putting his notebook and pen away, “so thank you, Mister Baggins.”

“Bilbo, please,” he replied, a little bit disappointed he couldn’t help more.

“Bard then, we will surely see each other again about all this.”

“No offense, but I’d rather not,” Bilbo joked a little pained and the Inspector let out a short laugh before he suggested walking back to the main hall and not prolonging Bilbo’s suffering.

 

 

“Carole, do me a favour and put the new DVD in, would you? And please use the gloves.”

Carole had only just entered the room with her tea tray, a little sweat on her forehead, _she always got sweaty hands from making tea_ , he never knew why, but he disliked it, he disliked it very much.

“Yes, of course, the one from Miss Statininni?”

He nodded while she poured him his tea.

“Would you like me to move the TV too so you can see it?”

“No need,” he took the milk, “I will only listen to her.”

Carole nodded again and moved to his shelves, retrieving the new DVD from it and placing it in the player after putting on the gloves.

“Is it loud enough?” She asked when she returned to him.

“Yes it is, thank you, would you notify me once my guest has arrived?”

She gave him a short nod.

“Make some coffee then. He doesn’t like tea,” the Doctor added when she was already halfway out the door.

“Surely,” she replied before closing the door.

For a moment, he enjoyed the silence in his salon. Vittoria was just about to start. The DVD had only arrived a day ago, but he had waited until today to listen to it, today, when he had something to celebrate, today when his odyssey would finally, finally come to an end! He was rejoicing. He needed to order new butterflies tomorrow, some from Japan maybe, or Korea, and he would order a new showcase – but for now, for now he had Vittoria, Vittoria and her Cello. And the catalogue of course, he had placed it on his desk yesterday so he could have a look today, decide on the new exemplars he was going to order. He was thinking about a golden showcase with red and golden coloured animals only. It would be his masterpiece, his price-possession to be exhibited at the firm for all his business partners to see.

He had closed his eyes over the catalogue, imagining how it would fit in his office, right behind his desk, musing and silently humming along with the sound, when the door to the room opened and Carole stepped in again.

“Doctor Auge, Mr Whiteskin is downstairs. Shall I send him up or will he wait for you until the concerto is finished?” she calmly asked.

He bit his lip. He hadn’t reckoned he would arrive that early.

“Sent him up,” he scrunched, reminding himself that the sooner he held the bloody thing in his hands, the earlier he could go back to his favourite cello player and his butterflies.

He got up himself this time, turning the telly off and putting the catalogue aside. Whiteskin didn’t like butterflies. He didn’t actually like any kind of animal, a dog had bitten off two of his fingers when he had been a teenager - at least that was, what they had told him, not that he cared extraordinarily much. He didn’t favour the company of Mr Whiteskin, he had something rude and rough in his attitude, disturbing his sorted life and home.  
He also carried a distinctive smell he already detected the moment Whiteskin entered his salon, followed by Carole who carried a large tray with strongly smelling coffee (but even that couldn’t overcast Whiteskin’s body odour).

“Doctor,” he huffed, sitting down in a chair at the table without any proper greeting.

“Always a pleasure,” the Doctor answered a little startled and sat down as well, having Carole pour the coffee. He waited with anything else until his housekeeper had left again, leaving them in privacy until they would call her again.

“Now?” The Doctor tried very hard to hide his excitement.

“Nothing,” was the short answer from his opposite, half drowned in the coffee.

“Pardon me?” The Doctor lent forward.

“Searched the whole bleein’ place, nuffin to find really, he didn’t’ave any laptop ‘ere and no USB disks orany of’da sort,” he spoke in his heavy accent.

“Are you trying to joke, because it’s not very funny,” the Doctor nervously shifted in his chair. _This wasn’t going according to plan._

“I told yah, Doctor, ‘ere was nuffin. The bitch must’ve taken the only bleedin’ copy with’er when she was on that bleedin’-“

“Are you trying to tell me that you and your men weren’t able to find the one thing I need in the one room there was to search?” The Doctor’s voice was louder now and taunting, his heart was racing and he was digging his nails in the 19th century wooden chair from Malahide Castle.

“We looked in ev’ry bleedin’ locker and box, we even searched the books’n the tables, I’m tellin’ yah, ‘ere was nuffin to be found. Doctor, I said it b’for, we never knew if ‘ere really was a second copy anyway,” Whiteskin replied in a similar fashion, emptying his cup with one last gulp, “next time think about these bleedin’ things b’for yah blow sumfin up,” he added, shifting in his chair until he sat comfortably.

“I want you to search the house!” The Doctor demanded.

“What bleedin’ house?”

“Her old house, he hasn’t sold it yet,” he moaned in resentment.

“Why doncha just get’im here an’ ask ‘im yourself? Or get one of his kiddos,” Whiteskin enervatedly huffed and crossed his arms.

“Because I can’t!” The Doctor yelled and his hand forcefully landed on the table with a loud plonk before he got up and walked to a window.

“And why is that?” Whiteskin asked, rolling his eyes.

“Because the man is a chemist himself. Had he any knowledge about a copy of that research, he would have done something about it himself until now. Therefore – he either doesn’t know he has it or he hasn’t got it, because it’s still in her house.”

“Or there simply is none,” Whiteskin added, but the Doctor ignored him, “you’ve been to the lab, it wasn’t ‘ere, isn’t it possible the bitch took the only copy?”

“And lose it somewhere by mistake? No – not when you’re doing that kind of research,” he let out a small laugh, “let the whole thing settle in for now, after New Year’s I want you to go to Manchester and look at her house.”

“Can we take the place apart?”

“No! No of course not!” The Doctor turned around, visibly enraged, “I don’t want any alarm to go off, this needs to be as silent as possible, I already didn’t like that you marched into that school in plain day, did you take care of that guard you bribed by the way?”

“He won’t sing no more, Doctor Auge, we took care of it,” he poured himself another small cup of coffee, watching the Doctor in front of the windows.

“Well, then see the house done in January. No noise, no traces of anything. I don’t want anybody, not the police, or the family to notice that someone had even been there, if anybody notices we are looking for something the files are worth close to nothing.”

Whiteskin didn’t answer, only swallowed his coffee before he arose and wandered to one of the Doctor’s showcases.

“Never got your obsession with’ose ugly moths,” he appraisingly wrinkled up his nose.

“Now we can’t all be into tattoos and dogfights,” the Doctor sarcastically retorted, sitting down again at his table.

“You may leave now. And send Carole a letter when you’ve chosen for a date and crew. You might want to choose some more capable men this time,” the Doctor added after a while, when Whiteskin was still observing his butterflies underneath the glass and didn’t seem at all to be preparing to leave.

“Tell me if yah change yah mind and Ima get one of the kiddos,” the tall, broad-shouldered man stated before he made his goodbyes and left.

Thankfully, Carole didn’t wait too long to pick up the remains of the small lunch and to open the windows wide to leave the abhorrent smell out.

“Maybe you should have someone look at your nose, you are the only one who ever notices any smell,” she joked when she loaded her tray and switched on the television again. She first did not receive an answer, the Doctor was brooding about something, she could see it in the wrinkles on his forehead.

“Tell the men we’re going to Sussex for a week, I’m tired of the city and I need to look after the horses,” he looked up to her, right into her eyes.

“Would you like me to come with you or shall I call Misses Bennet so she can help you?”

“Take Justin, you’ll both be coming with me,” he ordered without looking at her.

She stayed there for a moment, waiting for another order, but she received none. And while she was walking downstairs, she could hear how he went to the other direction, upstairs to his bedroom. One day, and she was sure of that, it would all end badly for all of them.

 

  
It was raining heavily when Bilbo left the school. He was one of the last to do so, most of the other teachers had long gone home and they had sent the students away hours ago. When he had exited the main hall, only a few men and women had been around still, most of them were guards. No wonder the police was having a close look at them, Bilbo had wondered from the worst day on, how the intruder had gotten into the school without being seen by the guards. By now, they had ruled out all teachers and staff, everybody had an alibi and those who did not were either female or did in no way fit with Bilbo’s description, at least that was what he had overheard, none of it was official.

He was just about to open his umbrella outside the main building, when he heard a light noise behind one of the pillars and walked around it, smelling tabaco-smoke.

“I thought you had already gone,” Bilbo said, because it was no other than the Professor, who was sitting there on the stairs, a cigarette in his right hand, looking utterly startled and almost shocked upon the sight of Bilbo.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Bilbo pre-empted him, pointing at the cigarette.

His opposite let out a sarcastic huff before he answered.

“Yes, me neither.”

It brought a half smile to Bilbo’s face.

He stubbed out the cigarette on the ground and threw it into the nearest bin before he got up, obviously feeling caught and Bilbo felt sorry in the instant, a little angry at himself _– he had promised to be less nosy._

“They are still in there,” Bilbo tried to move away from the topic.

“Yes,” was the only answer he received, the professor acting very strangely and reserved, well, probably the way he always did anyway. Even though Bilbo felt the need to apology and make up for his curiosity, he also saw that Thorin looked rather tired and didn’t seem like he was up for a longer talk. Putting both his hands in his coat’s pockets he let an encouraging smile show. He felt how his right hand, almost automatically and without his conscious order, went up to the professors arm and gave him a short, careful pat, that the receiver curiously eyed, before his feet _thankfully!_ began to carry him away from the school and his cheeks went slightly pink. _Bilbo Baggins, what in seven bloody hells was that?_

He could not walk fast enough without running and looking utterly peculiar. He rolled his eyes, cursing his reflexes and much too open ways – he really had a talent for overstepping lines! Would he treat him like before when school would start again, Bilbo would have truly earned it.

He was all the more surprised, when a loud voice resounded through the yard, calling his name. He turned around and looked up, already standing next to his car.

“See you on Monday!”

For a moment, Bilbo had to marvel at how the other man had both his hands in the pockets of his trousers, his grey cardigan fitting well with the dark shirt and the red tie and the blues jeans. He gave himself another internal slap for the mere thought, but then he smiled and waved shyly, getting into the driver’s seat of his car.  
Maybe... maybe this was the strangest encounter he had ever had in all his life.  
 _But one of the most pleasant nevertheless._

 

The weekend passed unnoticed. On Wednesday morning, Bilbo could not even remember what he had done to pass the time.  
He was focused now, focused on William Armstrong and Susie Mitchell, who were up on the stage, reciting Macbeth together and switching the language after each line. They were so fast and enthusiastic, even Bilbo had to pay close attention to not miss a line or keyword. He wouldn’t tell them to slow down though, they were great, _a natural Lord and Lady Macbeth_ , he thought and smirked, taking a short note about a minor mistake they had made when they had translated a line into Latin.  
When they ended, they stood close to each other, Susie’s arm stretched out and William resting his head on its shoulder, while her face was turned away from the audience. Quickly, the other students began to applaud and the two of them eased up again, turning towards Bilbo for feedback.

“That was brilliant,” he smiled and joined the ovations, “just a little mistake with the translation, but we’ll pay attention to it later, could I maybe get the script?”

“Yes, of course,” they responded, leaving the stage.

Bilbo made another note in his little notebook before he looked at his list to have the next student enter the stage. He blinked twice and swallowed hard when he saw it was Fili’s name. He hadn’t seen the two Durin boys since school had started; they had not attended his classes. It wasn’t just the two of them though, many children were still missing because their parents wanted to keep them at home for another few days or they were afraid to come to school. Bilbo knew of some parents who had gone on short vacations with their children, many had houses in the South or up in Scotland where they felt their children could retreat best. The school administration had allowed it. Some teachers had their children at Erebor themselves (not just Thorin) and felt that they needed a break before they were really able to come back. Most would probably come back on Monday after another week off, although every day they were some more students attending his classes Bilbo felt.

Fili and Kili were still missing anyway, and they remained missing until their next audition on the following Tuesday.

Bilbo was a little early then and had not anticipated to meet anyone in the Medelssohn-auditorium. He found himself startled when he heard the soft tunes of _Für Elise_ come from the piano forte on the stage, Kili and Fili sitting together on the small stool, Fili playing and Kili watching.

Bilbo had to smile at the sight and he would have surely stood there much longer to take it in, had the door not loudly closed behind him, and the boys attention been drawn to their teacher.

“Mister Baggins!” Kili squeaked, jumping down from the chair and the stage, running towards him. He looked a lot better than he had last seen him.  
Bilbo bent down to give him a hug when the boy had reached him, Kili embracing him tightly.

“Careful or you’ll hug me to death,” Bilbo humorously stated and ruffled Kili’s hair when the boy let go of him.

“Uuuh, don’t!” was Kili’s loud resistance when he tried to shush away Bilbo’s hands.

Only now he saw that while Kili had run all the way up to him, Fili had remained seated on the piano stool, carefully eyeing both of them. Bilbo raised his hand to greet him, but Fili only nodded, turning towards his sheet music again.

“Is everything alright with your brother?” Bilbo whispered to Kili.

The boy shrugged and looked down to where Fili was continuing his play.

“He’s been a little odd,” he replied silently, “Uncle sais he needs some time to come okay again.”

“And how are you doing?”

Slowly, both of them descended the stairs to the stage, taking seat in the first row.

“I’m good,” Kili smiled.

“That is very nice to hear,” Bilbo gave him a small and playful nudge, “and are you going to listen to us today?”

Kili’s answer was an enthusiastic nod.

The other students kept pouring in then, they all looked tired, a full day of school lay behind them. Bilbo nevertheless did his best to motivate them for a little longer and keep them from falling asleep.  
He wanted to make a final set-up today. He had gotten the time schedule for the evening from Henry and Doctor Dori and they had asked him to scatter the performances throughout the evening so they were little intermezzos between the rest of the program. He was supposed to show it to Thorin first, before he handed it back to the organization committee, and he was already praying he would catch him in a non-occupied or personal moment.

Towards the end of their rehearsal, all participants had performed their poetry, all but Fili. He and his brother were sitting a few seats away from the rest. Bilbo didn’t like the new segregation. He had tried his best to encourage both to be more affable and it had seemed to have worked until... until the worst day.

“Fili, you’re the last one.”

The boy lent forward to look at Bilbo who was sitting in the same row though much further left. He saw him nod and walk up to the stage, Kili eagerly watching him go and smiling.

As Fili started to recite his poem, Bilbo noticed another change. He could easily remember how Fili had, last time, vividly enacted the words, smiled and used hand gestures and mimics. Now, he was just standing on the stage, legs closed, his eyes on the paper or in the audience with close to no movement. It wasn’t a bad performance, in no way! It was _just-_ just so much sadder and lugubrious.

It took him a few seconds to process the sight after Fili had ended. The boy didn’t move, just looked at Bilbo while the others were clapping.

“Did you re-decide on how you wanted to present it?” Bilbo asked, concern in his voice.

“I figured it would make more sense,” Fili answered and Bilbo gave him a nod. This wasn’t the time and place to discuss what had made Fili change so much.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” this time Bilbo walked up the stage, “I will send you the schedule via email and I believe Mister Bofur and Doctor Dori will set up a final rehearsal with all groups somewhere in the first week of December or the last week of November. Keep practicing until then and tell me if you face any trouble.”

He showed them a weak smile, still influenced by Fili’s retrogression. He debated talking to his uncle about it, but he remembered how well that had worked in the past – _and really, who knew? Maybe he just had a bad day._  
At least Bilbo hoped it was just that.

He watched them leave together and stayed in the bleak, cold hallway for a bit longer until they had disappeared around the next corner. It made him feel weary and disillusioned, he didn’t like how it had all broken up after the events on the worst day. He had truly felt as if... well as if he had made something... _better_. Well, maybe he hadn’t. He was just an ordinary teacher, no matter how well he got along with both of them.  
A little bit heavy hearted, he left the corridor behind himself and walked to his office to pick up his bag and leave the school for today.

It was more by chance then by calculation that he passed the science department on his way, one door standing open and revealing an experimental assembly on the teacher’s table in the middle of the room. Behind it stood, who else could it have been, _thank you very much_ , Thorin Durin, sleeves hitched up and concentrated wrinkles on his forehead. He had a three- _no it looked more like a five-day beard_ that seemed to be getting a little thicker already.

Bilbo looked at the notes in his hand. If he gave them to him now, he would diminish the chances of catching him in a less favourable instant.  
He almost didn’t dare to knock though, he looked so focused on ... whatever he was doing, and Bilbo feared he would still ruin it if he drew his attention to something else. Eventually, he made himself know anyway and carefully knocked, Thorin looking up as he heard it.

“Good afternoon,” Bilbo reluctantly greeted him, lifting his hand.

“Good afternoon to you too,” he replied soberly, making a gesture that was (probably, hopefully) supposed inviting Bilbo into the room.

“I hope I’m not disturbing,” Bilbo said, looking at the construction on the desk.

“Don’t worry about it, I have to wait another twenty minutes for something to happen,” Thorin waved it off, curiously eyeing the paper in Bilbo’s hands, “what can I do for you Mister Baggins?”

“Oh, yes,” Bilbo cleared his throat, “I put together the script for the Birthday celebrations and wanted to show it to you,” he handed his notes over to the professor.

“You’re doing the poetry with the students, right.” It was more a self-reminder than a question, but Bilbo responded with a nod.

He seemed to be slowly letting his eyes glide over the first page.

“How many students do you have?” He asked, looking up to Bilbo.

“Twelve, but two of them are performing together. Doctor Dori asked me to organize their performances, but he has the last word, of course.”

Thorin remained silent for a while, quickly going through the notes.

“I already thought that Fili was taking part in it,” he smiled when he saw his nephew’s name.

“I didn’t know whether he had told you,” Bilbo bit his lip.

Throin looked up, the smile turning into some kind of... grin?

“I might not be _World’s Best Uncle_ , but I did notice that my older nephew does show some interest in German and British poetry.”

Bilbo let out a laugh.

“Don’t sell yourself _too_ short,” he tried to appease him.

“I don’t assume _you_ have children?”

“No, never married, never even really had the chance to think about it,” Bilbo calmly responded. This was taking a weird turn.

“I never thought I’d have two one day,” Thorin silently sighed, giving the notes back to Bilbo, “they look good, I’m sure Doctor Dori will be very pleased.”

“I do hope so...” For a moment, Bilbo didn’t know if their conversation was over. He wasn’t sure whether his opposite was trying to have him leave or whether he was just pausing, or simply being himself for starters.

“What are you doing there?” Bilbo decided to ask nevertheless. The silence was turning awkward, just as it usually did between them

“Oh, I’m taking my A-Level to Leeds on November 26th, to the Museum of Natural and Art History.”

Bilbo walked a few steps past the professor to have a closer look at the boiling, blue fluid in one of the goblets.

“They have a special exhibition on Ernst Fischer and we’re re-enacting some of his research in class.”

Bilbo gave him a knowing nod, not that he had ever heard of the man in his whole life.

“Come to speak of it, Lily was supposed to come with us that day, but after... all this, she asked to go home to the states on November 23rd already ” he paused and looked at Bilbo who turned to him again, “I need someone to fill her spot...”

_Was that hope in his voice? Wait, was he even asking? He hadn’t asked a question yet, had he?_

“I think you are overestimating my knowledge on Chemistry,” Bilbo tried jokingly.

“I would just need you to come along, the tour takes no longer than two hours and then they have another hour to themselves that doesn’t need to be supervised.”

 _So he_ was _asking._

“Uhm, sure, yes, why not,” he offered and for the fraction of a second, Bilbo thought to have seen a small smile appear on the professor’s face.

“That’s good to know, I will send you the information sheet, is that convenient for you?”

Somehow... somehow he wanted to get out of the room. There was something... daunting or unfamiliar in it, something he didn’t entirely trust or like.

“It is,” he gave the professor a quick nod, his fingers turning sweaty and his hands feeling terribly cold all of a sudden.

He left then, his mind utterly messed up and his cheeks burning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this took forever, I know, I'm sorry. But I have some great news, I will be moving to Northern England, in fact to York itself in September and I really can't wait! :D That was also one of the reasons it took so long again, I promise there will be a chapter next week and it will be a very emotional and cute one! I hope you liked it and it all sounds reasonable and I'm not totally messing up xD, many thanks also to Bree, who made [these](http://hellyeahbagginshield.tumblr.com/tagged/thilbo) wonderful edits!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge posted below the chapter - have fun!

 

The period of rain was fast over and times of colder winds soon followed.  
They had their first snow in mid-November. It melted fast and left nothing but mud and despair. After that, snowflakes came down on a daily basis, sometimes just a few of them, floating lightly and carelessly in the air – at other times, it snowed so hard the landscape turned none but white for a day until it was all washed away again.

It got cold in the halls of Erebor. The classrooms were still heated and it was so warm, you could think you were sitting in front of a cosy fireplace. In the halls, however, it was cold and hostile, and the farther the day would go, the darker the hallways would turn and the fewer students dared to walk for longer distances, but rather postponed a visit to the library or a teacher to the next day. The fear of what had happened still haunted them and you rarely saw someone alone and even now, more than a month after the worst day, there were still a few students who hadn’t returned to school. Thorin had received letters from some families, eight that Bilbo knew of, stating that they would send their children to another school because they either doubted that they were still protected well enough, or their children had been affected so much that they were too afraid to go back to school.

It was sad, really, to see that only slowly things were going back to normal, but maybe it was the contribution of the bleak season that made it all seem even more hopeless and somber, like a grey wedding veil that had been white once and darkened from a bride’s tears.

The excursion to the Leeds Museum of Natural History and Modern Art was a welcome relief from the dull everyday routine of teaching and studying for both the teachers and the students that came along.  
When Bilbo drove onto the parking lot of the museum that morning, he already saw the white bus from afar. A few meters away, next to the entrance, the students of Thorin’s A-Level seemed to be waiting under the roof. They were easily recognizable in their long black trousers and blue school uniforms.  
Bilbo took a look at his watch when he left his car, was he too late? They didn’t especially seem to be waiting for him though, because when Bilbo was taking his bag out of the trunk, Thorin’s black Audi pulled into the parking space next to him.

He ignored how his heart seemed to add a few beats to its usual rhythm and waited for the professor to leave the vehicle. White snowflakes reflected the weak sun in his black hair, as he took his backpack from the back seat and wished Bilbo a good morning.

“It’s quite cold,” Bilbo managed to say, “I guess we’ll have snow for December 6th.”

Thorin gave him an approving nod and looked up to the dark sky.

“Did you have any trouble on your way?” He looked over to Bilbo then.

“N-No not at all, it only started to snow when I drove into the city,” he replied, "and you?”

“Fili didn’t seem to have slept at all last night.” He locked his car and tried the trunk.

_Oh, that didn’t sound good._

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bilbo debated whether a small nudge or touch to the professor’s arm would be appropriate, but just as usual, his reflexes were faster than his mind and his hand carefully squeezed the professor’s left arm.

“He’s hatching something,” Thorin looked down to where Bilbo’s hand was touching him, “I just don’t know what.”

Bilbo, taking back his hand and awkwardly looking down, walked next to him in silence, thinking of Fili a few weeks ago during their last rehearsal in the auditorium. Something had been wrong then too.

“Maybe he just needs to process... it all,” Bilbo shrugged.

“If it only wasn’t that cold,” Thorin muttered absentmindedly, walking next to Bilbo to the entrance, and (Bilbo would later not even be sure if it had indeed really happened) gently putting his left hand on Bilbo’s back, guiding him into the hall before him. As warm as the reply to his earlier touch was ( _if it really was a reply, and what did it matter? People touched each other all the time... didn’t they?)_ , it disappeared only moments later when Thorin passed him, walking to the Information desk and his students started to pour in behind Bilbo.

The foyer of the museum was grand. They had painted the luminaries and zodiac signs onto the turquoise ceiling. Next to them, the respective semi-pre-Raphaelite women, heroes and animals seemed to be travelling the skies. Quickly, almost all of the young adults had their cameras and mobiles out, taking pictures of the artwork, while Thorin was fetching their tickets at the box office where he met their guide.

Bilbo felt a little awkwardly... suffocated, when they came back into the hall. He was just talking to Susie, the girl that was in his Latin A-Level as well and one of the few of Thorin's students he knew, when they came back. _They_ were Thorin and a tall, blond-haired woman, about a few centimetres shorter than the professor. She wore a night blue dress and black, high heels. And she was laughing, just like Thorin.

Her name was Beatrice du Pont. She was 36 and responsible for the exhibition on Ernst Fischer, and, what seemed to be nothing more than a funny coincidence, they knew each other from school in Cambridge. She had studied Astronomy when he was just about to leave after earning his doctorate. They hadn’t seen each other ever since, at least that was what it looked and sounded like. She was standing uncomfortably close next to him, repeating the touches Bilbo had been so frightened and reluctant to share, dozens and dozens of times. She reminded Bilbo of someone, he just couldn’t tell whom.

He wasn’t quite sure where his strange malaise came from, and what it might mean frightened him a little, but it seemed to be non-opposable. Cold crept up right from his belly into his lung, and his shoulders felt heavy. He waited and listened to her introduction next to Susie, who was standing more in the back. If he leant forward, he could see Thorin right through the gap the bodies of two students left for him. He had his hands in his jacket and was looking at her with a bright smile, following her every word.

Bilbo sucked in a long, heavy breath and let it out with an even longer, silent stream of air. He felt how Susie looked down at him ( _yes, she was at least a foot taller than him_ ), but he didn’t look up to her. He simply silently followed the other students, when Miss du Pont led them into another great hall that made the first part of the current exhibition. He and Susie were the last ones to enter the room and Bilbo was glad that by making sure they left no one behind, he could also stay away from du Pont and the professor as far as possible.

That at least gave him time to make up his mind about whether he wanted to dive into those strange feelings or simply ignore them and blame them on the weather. He turned out to be rather indecisive though. He had to start anew and anew every time his mind caught a few snippets from what du Pont was talking about, or he was asked to take a picture of someone.

Inside, he already knew what it was, _oh yes_ , he knew it all to well, but speaking of it, even thinking of it would make it all too real, and he didn’t want it, he couldn’t use it, these sort of feelings of all…  
So he ignored the little voice coming straight from his chest, whispering things that made his heart beat faster and his mind go nuts. It was a relief that he could remain silent throughout the whole tour and only had to ask the students to move a little bit faster now and then, when du Pont was proceeding but they were still examining parts of the exhibition.

Bilbo almost didn't notice how fast time passed and that they were already halfway through their tour, standing in another spacious room with different exhibits and all students scattered across the it, when he felt someone beside him, peaking at his camera, where he was going through some of the pictures he had taken.

“They’ve done quite a nice job,” the professor’s familiar, clear voice said and Bilbo shrieked a little, moving left, away from him.

Thorin had the funniest, big, blue, restless, idiotic eyes when Bilbo’s found them, still looking at him but startled by the unexpected movement.

“I am so sorry,” Bilbo swallowed hard, “I didn’t see you.”

Thorin showed a wide, understanding grin on his face – meeting that old school mate of his must have lightened his mood enormously.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sneaked up on you,” he said, standing tall and majestic in the same spot, waiting for Bilbo to come back.

“Did you take some nice pictures?” He invited him.

Bilbo gave him a nod and looked at his camera, making a step back towards the professor.

“They all seem to like it quite much,” he answered and showed the pictures to his opposite. Thorin smiled when he saw his students posing next to the parts of the exhibition.

“That one is quite nice,” he made Bilbo stop when the camera showed a picture of Bilbo next to Fischer’s re-staged laboratory. It followed a series of pictures of the other students in front of the same scenery. They had been adamant that he would be in one as well and because du Pont was already moving to the next room, he had given in quickly.

“Th-thank you,” Bilbo stammered in response, utterly clueless beyond repair.

“Do you like the exhibition?”

_Not that he had paid much attention._

“It’s done quite nicely…” Bilbo hoped the answer would be adequate, his mind was still gracefully busy with processing the last minute – dealing with the present and the man next to him was unthinkable and simply impossible.

“Your friend is quite competent,” Bilbo eventually added and switched off his camera, not without nervously curling his shoulders.

“Oh well, friend is a little bit too much,” Thorin scratched his neck and smiled awkwardly, “we never really had the chance to get to know each very well in school, but she and her husband just moved here, what a coincidence, right?”

The heavy stone that instantly fell off Bilbo’s heart was nothing anybody could have ignored, _not even Bilbo._

“Oh,” was all he managed to say and nod.

There wasn’t much to add and nothing Bilbo could have thought of anyway, because the curator’s loud voice resounded from the other end of the room, asking them to proceed and Thorin quickly left Bilbo with an excusing smile, accompanying her at the lead.

The next thirty minutes were even more dreadful than the beginning of the tour.  
It was as if something had flipped and turned inside him, a little switch someone had activated and that he was unable to turn back off again.

 _Had he really been jealous? Jealous of a married woman?_ Where had that come from? Bilbo tried to drown all thoughts that followed this one and declared them foolish and melodramatic. _Was he really doing this? Was he really willing to do all of this again this… this… ‘falling I love’ ?_ If he even was … _‘falling in love’_ at all, he couldn’t really be sure, could he? Who knew what the aftermath of the worst day was doing to him, maybe he was just being sentimental and overreacting.

His glare fell on the object of his trouble. Thorin was standing next to their guide, listening to her keenly. For now, the smartest thing to do probably was to put the thought on the shelf, Bilbo figured. No one had ever successfully thought about things like … _love_ … in a museum ( _of all places, really_ ), he concluded, but however high he put it up that shelf in his mind, he came back to it whenever the professor entered his sight. He didn’t even have to look at Bilbo ( _God beware what would have happened had he looked to Bilbo more often)_ , from behind most of the students, Bilbo always managed to find the right place to look through the crowd and see him in his suit, his hands behind his back, listening to Beatrice. Every time, his heart would pound a little faster inside him.

Bilbo was thankful beyond compare when they had reached the main hall with the turquoise ceiling again and their guide took her leave, wishing them a nice Christmas season and much pleasure exploring the museum themselves for the rest of the day. Thorin had finally left Bilbo’s eyesight by then, and he was unbelievably thankful about that. Ironic, wasn’t it? How, a few months and weeks back he had thought the same, only because of different reasons.

Some of the students directly made for the second floor, the bus would take them back to school later, until then they were free to walk around. Some others went back to the Fischer-exhibition, leaving Bilbo alone in the great hall beneath the zodiacs. He debated staying here for a while or having a peek at the other exhibitions upstairs, but then something else caught his eye. When he saw the familiar colour-circus on white canvas, he was reminded that he had forgotten about the museum’s second wing, the rooms with the art-exhibitions to his left.

For the first time of the day, he felt neither insecure, nor indecisive nor startled or uncontrolled. Art was his domain, his safe haven and he would feel much better and relieved once he stood in between the many Kandinskys and the soft yellow light, away from Thorin and the rest of the world.

The museum had organized a special exhibition on the artist. The text on the wall of the first room read, that more than twenty museums had contributed and supplying Leeds with their Kandinsky-collections. Many came from Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, from New York and Munich and from Japan. Next to the text was a small photo-documentary of how the pictures had travelled to Leeds and been arranged in the second wing.

They were beautiful; completely abstract, some of them depicting nothing but colour, others coming from different movements Kandinsky had worked in. Next to each picture, a small text explained their genesis, where they were from and what had happened to them during both wars and after. Again and again, black-and-white photographs of the artist and the cities he had lived in broke up the colourful thunderstorm of white canvases and oil-paint. The people who had arranged it all, had followed a chronological order starting with Kandinsky’s earliest works up to the last years before his death.

It was a relief _really_ , after two hours of chemical history and science, to finally fully grasp something again. Next to that, he actually enjoyed the loneliness of the second wing. Only now and then he saw other people passing him. Once a young couple that spoke with an Australian accent and twice men that seemed to take notes and re-sketch some of the paintings, art students probably. The silence was only perturbed by soft, classical music from loudspeaker in the ceiling. Utterly enjoyable, Bilbo concluded, when he finally sat down on a bench, resting his feet and marvelling at _Composition VII_.

He had no clue how much time he had actually spent wandering around the many rooms, closely observing the many paintings and photographs. The rooms did neither have any windows nor clocks and he had not bothered looking at his own. He felt at peace, probably for the first time in ages, and he did not wish to be disturbed by any feeling of the need to rush through the exhibition. No one was waiting for him anyway, at least that was what he had thought.

He had sat in front of _Composition VII_ for a while then, letting his thought roam, when he saw someone enter the room from the corner of his eyes. He didn’t pay them much attention, it was probably one of the two art students who wouldn’t bother him anyway. He turned his head, however, after the figure had leant into a pillar for quite a while, not moving and not seeming to be observing any of the paintings. It was the professor, half a smile on his face, hands in his pockets, looking at Bilbo, whose cheeks turned softly red in an instant and he moved abruptly, away from Thorin, for the second time of the day.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the professor said, gesturing with his right hand.

“No-no please don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Bilbo got up, putting his fingers behind his back to hide the nervous fumbling.

Thorin nodded and looked down, walking a few steps closer and turning right to have a better look at the painting. He only stood about a meter away from Bilbo, also putting his hands behind his back.

“It’s quite… confusing, to my mind.” Thorin observed, his eyes following every possible line and getting lost, squinting then.

Bilbo let out a small laugh. Thorin had bowed forward a little, his eyes were narrowed down to little slits as he tried to recognise anything at all.

“It’s music,” Bilbo explained.

“Music?”

“Well, some say he is depicting the Garden Eden or Noah’s flood, but he actually took much inspiration from music.”

“How can one paint music?” Thorin muttered.

Bilbo fell silent for a moment. He had never studied art, he simply enjoyed it. There was no ready-made answer he had at hand.

“See, that’s the difference between art and science. A scientist observes and tries to unravel the secrets that nature gives him. An artist makes his own secrets.”

He wasn’t sure whether it made any sense, but when a small smile appeared on the professor’s face, he knew his answer was sufficient.

“It’s beautiful in any case,” Thorin added, leaning back again and opening his eyes.

Bilbo imagined what they must have looked from behind: the two of them standing before the painting, their hands behind their backs and Thorin a little bit taller than him. He had to smile at the thought.

“Why are you here anyway?” Bilbo finally asked, after having stood unmoved for another while.

“Oh, it’s long past three and after sending the group home, I saw that your car was still in the car park, although I hadn’t seen you after the tour.”

So he had come looking for him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it already was that late, you surely have something better to do,” he apologised, feeling guilty all of a sudden. He hadn’t wanted to keep him back here.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” The professor scratched his head.

Well – no he wasn’t anymore.

“Th-thank you… then,” Bilbo stammered, taking his hands forth again, and clearing his throat after losing most of his words.

“Shall we go then, or would you rather stay a little longer?” The professor offered.

“No-no we can leave!” Bilbo said a little too loud and a young woman across the room turned around to them. Thorin chuckled.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo scratched the back of his head, “I’m probably a little tired.”

The professor gave him a nod and walked next to him through the wing back into the main all with the turquoise ceiling.

They said good bye to the woman at the ticket counter and stepped out into the white air, walking to their cars in silence.

“Next time we should share a car, I believe we almost have the same way home,” Thorin mentioned when they had reached the cars.

“Yes, it’s actually ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Bilbo nodded, looking down to his trunk, all to avoid the professor’s face.

“Thank you again for jumping in,” Thorin fumbled for his keys.

“S-Sure!” Finally Bilbo looked up, only to see how his opposite’s hand touched his left shoulder quickly and smiled before turning around and leaving him with red cheeks and a weird feeling in his gut.

He watched the professor drive away before he had to take a deep breath to come down to earth again. He was in serious trouble.

 

And trouble didn’t end easily. It did not take much for Bilbo to lose focus at school during the next days: A simple, short sight of the professor was enough to make the ground disappear beneath his feet. He even started to avoid the teacher’s room and had his lunch in his office. One day someone would see how his cheeks reddened every time he heard Thorin speak or how silent he fell whenever the professor passed him, greeting him with a small smile even when he was talking to someone else.  
  
 _He didn’t have time to bother with the thunderstorms in his gut! He really didn’t have time or patience for any of this!_

The Erebor Birthday was arriving and with that another round of rehearsals with his students, hours of wondering about Fili (who had still not returned to normal) and tons and tons of sleepless hours. He couldn't wait for Christmas break to start. He would go away, if even only for a few days, he would rent a cottage in Scotland and go hiking in the snow, just him and nobody else. His relatives had invited him for Christmas but he’d rather hang himself on a Christmas tree than spending the holidays over in Northern Ireland with his aunt and cousins (his cousins weren’t the actual part of the problem, his aunt was). In addition, he would gladly welcome a few days without seeing anybody and he refused to spend Christmas alone at home in front of the telly getting sick and lonely.

Bilbo was glad when the morning of December 6th broke. It had snowed all night, burying the streets and gardens under a soft, white blanket. It could not have been more peaceful, he thought when he enjoyed his morning cup of hot chocolate, peaking out of the window into his small back-garden.

School would only take two hours today, followed by a service at the school church and the traditional meal, before all students would be sent home, to come back in the evening with their parents. It was lenient day, joyful and pleasant; at least it had been last year.

As he later drove through the snow and up to the school, the landscape around him was prettier than ever. At Erebor, all students wore blue pullovers over their usual school uniforms, taking pictures beneath the huge Christmas tree next to the stage for the evening, which had been set up by workers on the previous night. It almost grew up into the high ceiling and was decorated gold and blue Christmas attire.

He didn’t encounter the professor until the service started and he let his students into the church, making sure they found their seats. Thorin didn’t notice him at all – he was too busy explaining the procedures to his own students, a class of first years that had never taken part in the celebrations before. Bilbo only heard his voice behind him, but he didn't turn aroun then. His glance fell upon him only when he had taken his comfortable chair up on the gallary.  
Seeing him from afar was less scary, but much to his surprise, Thorin didn't look very well. Even though Bilbo couldn’t see his every feature from where he sat, he was perfectly able to see how tired he seemed: He moved tardily, massaged his forehead over and over again and spoke very slowly and less warm. His face was pale and theer were dark shadows under his eyes as if he hadn't slept all night. It made Bilbo worry.

“He doesn’t look to good, does he?”

Henry sat down next to him as usual, stirring Bilbo's train of thought.

“Hm?” He turned around.

“Dwalin said they had some trouble at home last night,” Henry let out a sigh, and put his bag underneath his chair, “he took Fili over to sleep at his place.”

“Pardon me?” Bilbo asked, confused.

Henry shrugged.

“Can’t tell you anthing else, James didn’t say no more.”

“Are they alright?”

“Hope so,” Henry lent forward, resting his arms on the small wall before them.

“I haven’t seen the boys today,” Bilbo whispered, more to himself than to Bofur.

“Fili stayed at home with James’ wife, Kili's down there,” Henry pointed at the first years next to Thorin’s class.

“Isn’t Fili taking part in yah poetry reading tonight?”

Bilbo nodded, his thoughts with the brothers.

He dearly hoped the boy was alright, there had been enough turmoil recently.

 

The service was lovely, really, and it didn’t take too long. Bilbo could remember Gandalf giving a little speech last year (a very beautiful and encouraging one about acceptance, friendship and trust), but Thorin remained at his seat. He really didn’t look very well. Bilbo was wondering what must have happened the night before, but he was coming to no answer or conclusion, only that he would most likely have to do without Fili in the evening. His heart felt heavy at the thought that the trouble had home hadn't stopped for them. He didn't think he would see Fili very soon.

 

The more he wondered when he saw the boy walking up to him behind the stage at six o’clock in the evening.  
The others were already there and he was a little late, but still on time, wearing a suit and even a small, blue and golden tie

“I was already worried we wouldn’t see you tonight,” he told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Fili didn’t say anything, just nodded. Something was upsetting him and it bothered Bilbo that he couldn’t tell what.  
Behind them, the voices and sounds of the students preparing for the staging suffused the room and before them the first guests were already sitting down, talking and chatting cheerfully.

“Is everything alright?” Bilbo silently asked, bending down a little.

“Yes,” Fili answered.

“You know you can talk to me when something bothers you?”

“Yes I know.”

Bilbo eyed him for another while. The feeling that the boy was hiding something from him never left him, but Fili didn’t speak again and his eyes looked like two mirrors, not showing the person behind them.

“Alright,” he finally said and let him go so he could prepare with the others. A bad feeling had his guts twist as he watched Fili sneak away, but a small, light voice caught his attention when he was just drifting too deep into pondering.

“Mister Baggins?”

It was Kili, smiling and in a little suit, waiting next to Susie Mitchell who must have brought him behind the stage.

“Kili! How nice to see you,” Bilbo smiled and walked towards them.

“Ima go,” Susie said with a smile and left the two of them alone, walking into the same direction as Fili.

“How are you doing?” Bilbo asked, guiding Kili away from back-stage and down the steps, where it was a little calmer.

“Okay, I guess,” the boy said, “and you?”

“I’m very well, thank you for asking,” Bilbo answered, scrutinizing Kili, “I heard there was some trouble last night?”

Kili huffed.

“Fili didn’t come home after piano lessons,” he said, “and uncle had to look for him.”

“Where was he?” Bilbo asked, a little in shock.

“At JP Morell Library, reading, uncle was pretty angry at him and Fili slept at James’.”

"Is that on Hes West?" He had quickly gotten accustomed to the fact that his colleagues shortened the names of the University's campuses to Hes West and Hes East, rather than saying Heslington West and Heslington East.

"Yes, he took the bus there."

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Kili shrugged.

“Was it very bad?”

“It was loud,” Kili didn’t smile anymore, playing with his fingers and Bilbo immedieatly felt sorry for damping his spirits.

“Are they okay again?”

Kili shook his head.

“I didn’t see Fili today, and uncle is too tired.”

“Is he here?” Bilbo asked and Kili nodded.

“Can you please talk to him?” Kili looked up to Bilbo, his eyes filled with hope.

“Talk to whom?”

“Uncle. He said Fili might stay at James’ for a little longer, but I want him to come home, please, Mister Baggins, please, can you talk to him? He won't listen to me.”

Bilbo was out of words. Kili had folded his hands and his eyes had all of a sudden glazed over. He got down on his knees and carefully gave the boy a small hug.

“I don’t think I can help you much, I think your uncle and your brother need to figure that out themselves,” he calmly said when Kili hugged him back.

Low music played on the stage.

“But what if Fili doesn’t come back to us?” He whined.

“He surely will,” Bilbo tried to calm him down.

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Your brother and your uncle can both be very... complicated, but in the end, you are a family, it will all be okay again, I promise.”

He let go of Kili and looked into the boys eyes.

“Are-are you sure?” Kili wiped away a tear.

“I am,” Bilbo smiled encouragingly, “C’mon, I’m gonna get you to your uncle, are you sitting next to him?”

Kili nodded.

Bilbo didn’t feel it was that much of a grand idea to face the professor, old fears of confrontations mixed in with stranger feelings in his stomach, but what was he supposed to do? Let the boy alone? No, not really.  
They found the professor quickly, he was talking to some other teachers near their seats. As soon as they came into eyesight, he felt how Kili gripped his left hand, holding on to it tightly.

Thorin saw them as they came closer. No smile this time, no friendly gestures. His face remained unchanged and his body tensed.

“There you are,” were the only words he directed towards Kili.

“He just wanted to say hello,” Bilbo tried, offering a warm smile. Thorin didn’t return it.

“Thank you for bringing him,” he said instead and Kili slowly let go of Bilbo’s hand.

“Where are you sitting?” He asked when Kili walked towards his seat behind Thorin.

“I will be walking around and helping out behind the stage.”

Thorin nodded. Bilbo could see the dark circles beneath his eyes again. He had grown a beard during the last days. In the museum it had still been small, but it was covering half the lower part of his face now, making it all more sorrowful.

“I think you will be missing one of your students, I would like to apologise for him, I will make sure he calls you and apologises himself…”

“You mean Fili?” Bilbo interrupted him, “he’s behind the stage, getting ready.”

Thorin's face turned suprised.

“He just came up to me,” Bilbo added.

Thorin’s eyes turned towards the floor and he silently nodded, muttering something like a _‘thank you’_ though Bilbo wasn’t sure.

Since no further conversation developed, he finally wished him an enjoyable performance and turned around, walking away from him. For half a minute he felt the need to say something, to turn around and tell him it would be alright and that he shouldn’t worry, but his body never turned and his mouth remained silent.

Silent until he saw another familiar figure among the guests.

He wore a suit and his big glasses again, standing next to a pillar and observing the room.

“Inspector Archer?” Bilbo quickly walked up to him and was greeted with a large smile.

“Mister Baggins, nice to see you under other circumstances,” he shook his hand.

“What are you doing here?” Bilbo asked, _was there anything going on?_

“Just keeping track of the investigation, no need to worry,” he assured him.

“Good to know,” Bilbo said, a little relieved, but still startled.

“I can’t talk to you about it though, I’m sorry,” the inspector added.

“No, no don’t worry, I just thought someone had made a threat and we needed protection.”

The inspector had to chuckle.

“No not all, please, please go on with what you were doing, just tell me if anything out of the ordinary meets your sight.”

“Of course.”

Now he _was_ worried. The Durins were a bit short of domestic bliss and the police was here, _utterly great, really,_ the only thing that was really missing was another man with a gun shooting at whatever or whomever.

His heart was racing and he tried to calm himself down, walking swiftly behind the stage to busy himself with something – really anything – just to not think about Thorin, the boys or the Inspector anymore. _For God’s sake he had better things to worry about!_

The staging started about half an hour later.

The hall had turned almost silent when Thorin and Doctor Dori stepped onto the stage, opening the celebrations with a short speech, explaining the reason they came together every year to celebrate the birthday of Bishop Erebor, the man that had written the _Fides et Veritas_ and therewith coined the school's motto. They spoke about his ideals for a life in peace between Catholics and Protestants in England and the rest of the worls. And about acceptance and tolerance.  
Finally, Thorin wished them all a merry Christmas and hoped they would enjoy the staging. Bilbo remained fully silent behind the stage, sitting on a high chair and listening to the professor’s footsteps making it down the stage and back to his seat in the first row next to Kili. He never saw him from the angle.

He closed his eyes when the room fell silent. Then he sent his first student out.

The enactment ran smoothly. Nobody missed his part or skipped a line. After the first poem, Henry and Doctor Spiegelman had their choir sing the hymn of the school, all students in the audience dutifully standing up and joining into the canon. They proceeded with the reading of _Fides et Veritas_ , two students of Doctor Dori’s R.E. A-Level discussed the meaning of Luke 6:37 (not that Bilbo understood much of it, he had wanted to read the respective paragraph again, but he had completely forgotten about it in the course of the previous days).

He liked what he heard, however.  
Some of the teachers in Erebor were rather… traditional. At first he had assumed the Religious Education teacher would be the head of them, but ever since Angus Dori had defended two girls that had been caught making out in the changing rooms behind the lacrosse-field last summer, Bilbo had a high opinion of him. He was sure, the two parts of the New Testament had been picked on purpose, both spoke of being less judgmental towards others and thinking about his own faults and sins before judging someone else.

In moments like these, Bilbo sometimes wondered that if he ever found someone, would they still allow him to work at a Catholic School? Not that he was ashamed of his sexuality, would they ask him to leave because of it, he would. He was sure it would not come from the other teachers, but of course there were others that provided support for the school, parents that sent their children to a Christian school for reasons and then the Board. Against them, he would not stand a chance.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed half of the performance on stage, another song and a few of his poets as well as another small play. Luckily for him, Henry was also keeping an eye on the students that were supposed to walk on stage so when he came back to reality, he caught the last lines of “Story of the lonely man” before the choir poured in for the second time and Fili got up from the ground and walked towards Bilbo. It was his turn, right.

“You ready?” Bilbo whispered.

Fili didn’t look at him but gave him a nod, his hands grasping the sheet of paper with Eichendorff’s poem on it.

He didn’t look as if he was okay, Bilbo thought, patting him on the shoulder and seeing him gulp before he gave the sheet to Bilbo and slowly walked on the stage.

Bilbo sat behind an extra theatre-wall, being able to see the stage from the side, but not seen by the audience. Silence filled the hall. Fili appeared small and tiny on the big, black stage and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.  
Then, finally, he looked up, turning to Bilbo as if he needed help and Bilbo made a reassuring gesture, waiting for Fili’s accent free German, but no German came from his mouth when he started to speak.

_It’s dark in Oakwood, dark and cold,_   
_they say – that long and longer,_   
_no one passed through it and took --_   
_the road around it in its place._

His eyes grew big when he heard the first lines of Fili’s poem, the poem he had written himself and presented to Bilbo weeks ago. He was startled. Fili had never told him that he was still considering it for the performance, he had been against it from the beginning on, but now here he was, reciting his own lines.  
Bilbo bent forward a little further to see the first row and the seats Kili and Thorin were sitting in. He first saw Kili’s face, all lit up, almost standing and listening to his brother. Then he saw Thorin. The professor’s face was neither startled nor tired anymore. He was aware, woken up and listening carefully. One time Bilbo saw him swallow something and taking in a deep breath. And only seconds after it had begun, Fili finished, bowed and listened to his applause before he walked back to Bilbo who was clapping as well.

Fili smiled.

A rare occasion it had become, seeing Fili smile like this.

“I knew you could do it.”

“I wasn’t sure,” the boy bit his lip.

“But you did it, well done.”

Bilbo ruffled Fili’s hair and hugged him with one arm, Fili returned the gesture and walked with him to the rest of the ‘club’ that all awarded them with compliments and silent high-fives.

Chuckling, Bilbo watched them closely and very pleased.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. The second reading of _Fides et Veritas_ only took a few more minutes and eventually everybody joined in with the choir singing ‘May the Road Rise to Meet You’. A long applause and standing ovations followed, eventually they dragged even him and the other teachers that had organized the performance outside and had them bow, Henry being the loudest of them, putting one arm around Bilbo’s neck and laughing loudly.

For the first time since _the worst day_ , the whole school was imbued with light and laughter, _the wound would start to heal_ , Bilbo thought, looking at the applauding guest and students, _it would heal and leave close to no scars._

 

The applause and the laughter could have been the best parts of the evening, but they weren’t. They were just back behind the stage and starting to clean up and pack their things when the first parents came in, to have a peak at their children and the rest of the team when Bilbo realised a figure in a dark blue suit coming in through the stage and passing the chair he had sit on the whole evening.

Before Bilbo could say something, Thorin gave him a short look and walked past him through the back stage, towards Fili, who was talking to some of his classmates who had sung in the choir. They quickly fell silent when the professor approached them, leaving him alone with his nephew.

Bilbo dared not to move or to speak. All of a sudden he wasn’t sure how much of a good idea it had actually been to have Fili read out a poem one could easily interpret as more than a simple story about a gloomy forest. He prayed the professor wouldn’t yell at him in front of everyone and make it all even worse. He was glad no one else seemed to be looking at them, but he also couldn’t hear what they were saying, the stage was filled with too much noise.

All his fears were suddenly wiped away when he saw how Fili nodded and Thorin got down a bit, hugging his nephew tightly. Bilbo was sure Fili was hiding tears when he buried his face in his uncle’s neck and returned the loving hug. Another stone fell off Bilbo’s chest, almost simultaneously, he had to lean against a pillar. They had all faced so much trouble in the past, none of them deserved another argument (himself included).

It only took another few seconds until Kili came running towards them and Thorin took him up so he sat on his hip and hugged both his older brother and uncle.

“Now that’s a family reunion.”

Henry stood next to him, slapping Bilbo on the shoulder.

“Well done,” he said before he turned away again, helping a student looking for the owner of a violin.

Bilbo was almost ready to look away from the scene when he met the professor’s eyes. They were as blue as they had been on the first day he had seen him, but filled with life now and affection. It must have been the hundredth smile and nod Bilbo received from him, but it was the one that finally made him realize what he had been trying to fight for… probably longer that he could remember:

Love was nothing one chose, love happened. And it might just be happening to him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone -- I am so sorry it took so long AGAIN! I actually wanted to finish this before flying to Israel, but I seriously couldn't. Today however i really had a flow, I wrote 4,500 words in 3 hours and I am so glad this chapter is finally finished, omg I love those two dorks so much! I would also like to mention that this fanfiction now has more words than my first novel (which had 50k) and I will probably print it for myself once I am done.  
> Please leave a comment to tell me how you liked it!


	9. Chapter 9

 

He was very proud when he saw them driving away that night. It was already late then, and way past midnight. The teachers and some of the senior students had helped the staff cleaning up so the stage could be sat down in the weekend without any interference or personal belongings being left in the hall. Bilbo didn’t get to say goodbye to Durins, they had already left when he and Aaron came back from storing something away in his office. He didn’t know that they had waited for him, but left eventually, when Bilbo had not come back immediately.

He also didn’t see them during the weekend, and on Monday he was told Thorin had gone to Cambridge for the week, filling in for a professor that had come down with a cold. He had found out about it when he had wanted t visit him and his office door had been lucked, a small note on the door reading that he would be back the week after. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, but snow was falling outside and Bilbo was hoping that it would not only cover up all lawns outside, but also his biased mind.

Exams started on the morning of December 15th and that was when he saw him again. The last week before the break was always reserved for tests so the teachers could use some extra time to see them through during the Christmas break. Bilbo had to supervise his own First Year German class and two Second Year Math classes all together, so when he entered the Exam Hall (a unnecessary large room that had, in earlier times, be filled with bunk beds for the resident-students and was now used mainly for joined exams like this) on Monday morning, about 70 students rose from their chairs at once and greeted him with the usual sing-sang and a short, joined _Fides et Veritas_.

They had to switch on all the lights in order to dispel the darkness from the room.  
Outside, sun had not risen yet and the sky was pitch-black, stars hiding behind the clouds. Bilbo quickly distributed the exams, his own and those that had been given to him. He wondered a bit about the many drawings on the front page of the ‘Math’ Exam, but he didn’t pay it much attention, the cold and darkness made him tired.

Instead, he only came to the conclusion that he was not supervising a Math test, but Chemistry in fact, when the professor entered the room halfway through the test, making Bilbo’s heart beat faster.

“I thought I was filling in for Mister Balin,” Bilbo whispered.

Thorin shook his head, “No,” he said, “they’re my Chemistry courses, you can leave now, I will stay.”

Bilbo gave him a hesitant nod and slowly started packing his belongings into his briefcase, fishing for words.

“How was Cambridge?” He offered a small smile.

“Good,” Thorin whispered and handed him the last folder, his hand brushing Bilbo’s slightly.

A few students looked up form their exams, eyeing them curiously.

“See you later,” Bilbo whispered finally, getting up and leaving the small desk and chair to Thorin. He replied with a silent nod.

He didn’t see him later. Maybe it was for the better, _really_ , Bilbo thought. The air had thickened the moment Thorin had entered the hall and just as usual, his own mind had emptied. Their encounter had been brief, thankfully, and not many words had been needed (or appropriate seeing that the room had been filled with 70 students, trying to pass an exam!). Bilbo was grateful that the next days were so busy he didn’t have a great chance to dwell on his inappropriate feelings he was still afraid to call by their name. He started reviewing and correcting exams the same day and buried himself in work at home and at school. He never thought of it again and forgot that he had even seen him that morning. The Christmas days would provide enough solitude and rest for him calm down and survey whatever his head and art were hatching.

At the end of the week, the Christmas Break started. The term was closed with a beautiful service and a snow ball fight outside the school, in which mainly the younger children and teachers engaged in. Bilbo watched the slaughter from the borders of the battlefield next to Aaron who would have loved to join, but was afraid he would ruin his new coat and rather stayed with Bilbo.

_Lily would have loved this._

For the first time he thought of the American again. She hadn’t come back to England yet and was still with her parents. He hadn’t heard from her, nobody knew when or whether she would come back and he dared not to ask, although he felt the sudden need to talk to her, talk to her about the professor, the boys and _the worst day._ He carried that thought with him when he and Aaron walked back to the school.

The _castle_ laid dark and looming in the snow. No lights were turned on, no people behind the windows, no voices from inside.  
The school would remain empty during Christmas and New Years Eve. Still, after _the worst day_ , no discussion had been needed to decide that even though the school would not be filled with students, security surveillance would continue. When Bilbo drove home later that day, he remembered how the school had been on the news in the whole country and even abroad. They still hadn’t found the intruder and the coverage had ended long ago. Sometimes he wondered whether the incident would ever be solved. He looked back through the wing mirror, and saw Erebor standing tall and dark in the lonely distance. Hard to say, whether it would ever appear in a more welcoming light again.

He didn’t leave his flat at first. On Saturday and Sunday he busied with work while rain first washed away all snow and finally froze on the street, making it shiny and slick. Only on Sunday evening it started snowing again when Bilbo sat in front of the telly, watching a documentary about plastic bottles, anything to busy his mind and distract him.

It was already past noon on Monday when it dawned on him that if he wanted to spend Christmas away, he would have to book a vacation sometime soon. He almost spilled his hot chocolate over his novel when he scurried out of his bedroom to get dressed and showered. He had to get into the city soon if he expected any store to be still open upon his arrival. It dreaded him. Staying inside was providing a certain kind of security he was rather not keen of giving up.

York was awfully busy around Christmas time and filled with wagon loads of tourists that hasted from one Christmas market to the next and from one shop to the nearest café. Bilbo found the small office of the travel agency that had also organized his summer trip in the Coutybucker Street, a small alley that was ignored by most tourists and almost empty when he entered it.

The little bell at the door changed and warmth hit Bilbo’s face as he opened the door and began to smell the scent of vanilla crescents and cardamom waffles. Behind the only desk sat a young, chubby woman that immediately offered him Christmas biscuits and coffee. She introduced herself as Amber, Amber that came from the Netherlands and was doing an internship at the agency. She ensured him, however, that she was perfectly capable to help him and knew the _system_ perfectly.

“I’m looking for something during Christmas, a small cottage in Ireland or Scotland by the sea if possible and without any internet.”

Amber looked at him as if he had just asked for a trip to the moon.

“I’m not sure whether we have any offers that explicitly rent houses without any connection to wifi,” she murmured while she seemed to be trying to gain access to the system. She then didn’t speak for a while, her eyes roaming over the screen and her fingers furiously hitting the left button of her mouse.

“Christmas you said?”

Bilbo gave her a nod.

“I’m afraid the houses that would be shortlisted are already all booked out, it’s the 22nd we usually make reservations in the summer,” she sighed, turning the screen around for him to see.

“What about that one?” Bilbo pointed at a house that was not marked with a little red cross.

Amber turned the screen back around, apparently clicking on the offer herself.

“Mhm,” she made.

“Pardon me?” Bilbo lent forward.

“It’s under construction I’m afraid,” she showed him an apologising face, “it says the south wall is open and they are building an addition.”

“So it’s not for rent?”

She shook her head.

“But we do offer trips to the Caribbean, Christmas in the sun, beach and cocktails! How does that sound to you?”

Bilbo left the office after that.  
As enthusiastic the Dutch girl had been, neither did he want to spend another two grand on a trip he didn’t want to go on nor was he very fond of leaving for the airport within the next seven hours. Outside, he grumpily buried his face in his scarf; it had gotten even colder and he could hear the noises of peasants from the main street. The store bell rang again when the door swung shut and icy wind blew right into his face.

He needed to buy groceries. He had planned on leaving soon, his fridge was almost empty. And if he wasn’t going on vacation, he needed to send Christmas cards and some books at best to bridge the holidays. Conveniently, his legs had carried him right to the front doors of _Hardol’s_ , the department store that sold everything from food to clothing and electronics. Bilbo wrinkled his nose. He hated department stores at Christmas season: crowded shops, filled with noise, people and dry, stale air. Not that it was possible to enter and leave within an hour, especially when one was not the least fond of crowds.  
He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, cramping his hands to fists before he entered.

Inside, American Christmas music was howling and the scents of a hundredth perfumes mixed in with sweat and the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and mint. The halls and shops before him were filled with people: families and singles, young and old, some with bags that were already bristling with packed and wrapped presents. Their talking filled every space that was still empty, awkwardly squeezing in.

He had to get the cards first, he didn’t want to carry a bag of cooled groceries all the way through the third floor, where (at least that was what the map read) stationary was sold. It took him a while to get up there, the escalators were ridiculously overcrowded and slow, but eventually he stood before the half empty shelves with the Christmas stationary. _They had to have more,_ was his first thought when he took an unprecedented ugly card out of the shelf and turned it around. Still staring at it, he walked around the shelf, when something hit his right leg.

“I’m so sorry, Sir!” He heard a familiar, small voice shout from the ground.

“Kili?” Bilbo let the card sink.

“Mister Baggins?” Another familiar voice asked from behind them.

 _Oh bugger._ And he had hoped he wouldn’t have to see him during the break. The city was too small for the two of them.

Bilbo first helped Kili to get up before he turned around to the professor. Both of them wore dark blue coats and Thorin was carrying two big bags filled with packages wrapped up in colourful paper. Had Kili not run into him, he would have never recognized them in the crowd.

“Good afternoon,” Bilbo finally answered, picking up Kili’s beanie from the ground.

“I thought I had heard you were going away for the holidays,” Thorin came closer, scrutinizing him.

“I was going to, but…”

“Why did you wanna go away?” Kili questioned, putting on his beanie.

“I-“ Bilbo was interrupted yet again when another voice called for his collocutors.

“They only had the golden ones left, is that fine too?”

Fili came walking towards them, holding a package of golden envelops in his hands. He gave them to his uncle before he recognised Bilbo and smiled.

“Mister Baggins, how are you doing?”

“Very well,” Bilbo answered, it wasn’t a complete lie, “still haven’t found the right Christmas cards though.”

“They have more over there,” Fili pointed towards the direction he had come from and Bilbo followed him with his glare.

“Oh really? Thank you then I-” something was tugging at his coat and he looked down, his voice disappearing. It was Kili.

“Why are you going away from Christmas?”

“I was going to, I’m not anymore,” Bilbo answered.

“And why did you want to?”

 _Thank you very much_ , he had hoped he would be able to avoid that explanation. There was no way one could make it sound non-self-pitying and the last thing he wanted were sympathetic phrases from the man he might actually was in love with ( _the stress was on might actually_ ).

“I wanted to get out of the city to have some time for myself, but as it turns out, I was a little late for still booking a cottage,” he summarized, looking first at the youngest Durin and then up.

Fili or Thorin had not even time to react before Kili raised his voice again.

“Does that mean you will be spending Christmas alone?” He inquired with huge eyes and an open mouth.

“It’s actually not a bad thing when you’re older,” Bilbo tried to explain.

“But it’s Christmas! Do you even have a tree?”

_What if he actually said ‘no’?_

“Of course I have one,” he lied, “I got it last week.”

He heard a small chuckle from Thorin’s direction and looked up, only to look down immediately again, because Kili’s wasn’t done yet.

“But you will be all on your own then! Who will bring your presents?”

“Father Christmas of course,” Bilbo answered with a grin.

“Father Christmas isn’t for real, do I look like a baby?” Kili crossed his arms sulkily.

“He last believed in Father Christmas when he was five,” Thorin calmly said, “Kili stop interrogating Mister Baggins,” he gave his nephew an appellative look.

He didn’t even look at his uncle and voiced a new idea instead: “You need to come to our place!”

Bilbo let out a laugh and shook his head.

“Yes, why not?” Fili added, crossing his arms.

“That is very nice, but I will be perfectly fine, in fact I was just going to-“

“No! No! You can’t be alone for Christmas, only old cat-ladies are alone for Christmas, right?” Kili looked at his uncle who must have been the author of that statement.

“Kili, you can’t force Mister Baggins to-“

“He saved my life!”

 _Royal Flush_ was the only thing that came to Bilbo’s mind. That must have hit home, because the professor’s face turned white and grave in an instant and his eyes darkened and he felt so, so sorry! He didn't deserve to be reminded of this, neither one of them did, especially not him, the last weeks had been enough trouble already.

“Kili, I really didn’t…” Bilbo tried to calm him, using both his hands.

“Yes you did!” The boy said with such force it almost startled Bilbo. He had spoken so loud, a few people had turned around making Bilbo blush a little.

“Do you _want_ to spend Christmas at ours?”

Bilbo turned around. He hadn’t expected anything like that from the professor.

“Pardon me?” was the only thing Bilbo got out of his mouth.

“We don’t want to force ourselves on you, but you are very welcome to come over before you spend Christmas alone.”

The professor’s voice was familiarly clear and emotionless. Bilbo hadn’t heard it in weeks, ever since _the worst day_ it had sounded more welcoming and warm.

“I really don’t want to bother you,” Bilbo said, looking at Kili.

“You won’t bother us! The more people the more fun!” was Kili’s happy answer.

Bilbo turned over to the professor and Fili. The blond boy looked at his little brother while his uncle’s face was still empty, but tense.

 _He didn’t want to spend Christmas alone. Not in his flat where he would be constantly reminded of the holiday. He would be okay, right? He could behave himself and be normal around him, right? He had to anyway, right? Not that he stood any chances; the headmaster of a Christian School was not into men, right?_  
Right.

"Are you sure I won't be ... _intruding_?"

He wasn't completely sure, but Thorin made a noise that sounded like an ironic huff. _Oh, they had spent so many fight over this._

"You won't."

“Then I insist on cooking at least,” Bilbo offered and received a nod from the professor.

“We do Christmas on the evening of the 24th,” he picked up his bag.

_Oh right. They must have done it like that in Austria._

“When should I be there?”

“Around noon, if you really want to cook,” the professor let out an ironic huff.

“I will,” Bilbo replied with a challenging, yet very small smile while Kili joyfully clapped his hands and eventually joined his brother and uncle again.

 _Maybe, maybe this would just all make it so much better_ , Bilbo thought, watching them leave. He would realise how dumb he actually was and that all those feelings that he might be having ( _really, the emphasis needed to be on **migh** **t** )_ were just short notions of attachment and purely natural attending ills of his reconciliation with the professor. _And nothing more._

He bought them presents of course. He couldn’t show up on their doorstep on Christmas Eve without any presents for the boys, and bringing something for the boys meant also bringing something for the professor. Anything else would have been indecent, he still felt guilty for intruding their Christmas. He would cook, give them their presents and then leave, he had decided by Tuesday, when he bought the missing ingredients for their Christmas Dinner. _He would not be a burden!_

Snow had fallen again on the night between the 23rd and the 24th. Most of it had melted away by the morning, it had gotten utterly warm for this time of the year, but it still covered most of the front gardens and some of the rooftops while the sun was weakly shining from the sky, illuminating the winter streets and parks.

The Durins lived in Acomb, one of the upper-middle class suburbs of York. All streets and houses were generously decorated and children were playing on the silent streets, building snow mans and making snow angels. Their infantile screams resounded even three streets further, quickening the lazy day

Bilbo had written down their street name and house number on a small piece of paper.

_St. Steven’s Road 346_

When he looked up, he seemed to have found the house. It was one story higher than those to its left and right and its stones were a little darker. It had a small front garden that was completely covered in snow and its door was green. Thorin’s Audi was parking in front of it and piano music was coming from inside. Bilbo let a bypassing couple pass him before he walked through the knee-high, blackish entrance gate. It was five past twelve, the chicken needed to be returned to the fridge and the tomatoes were being squeezed inside his bag.

His heart was hammering hard against his ribcage and his hands became sweaty in the cold winter air. _Maybe he should just leave._ He couldn’t tell how long he had been standing in front of that door when the decision was taken from him and he heard fast, little steps approaching the door and the piano music stopped. He didn’t have any time to react or rethink, because in the next moment, the door swung open and he saw Kili hanging with both hands on the sneck as if he had slipped on the floor.

“Merry Christmas!” he shouted, “Fili, Mister Baggins is here!”

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something but he never got the chance to, because next, Kili lost grip of the sneck and his brother came running down the corridor from what seemed to be their living room, next to him Bailey, the Durin’s Golden Retriever that eventually passed the blond boy and _attacked_ Bilbo.

Bailey jumped up his chest with a wag of her tail, sniffing and barking loudly.

“Drop it Bailey!” He finally heard Thorin’s loud voice shout from inside, relaxing and tensing both at the same time.

Bailey didn’t listen at first, but when she heard Thorin approaching them she turned around and got down, still barking and running around Bilbo in circles.

“G-Good afternoon,” Bilbo stammered, trying to bring his clothes in order and recollect himself, he felt a little like fainting.

“I’m sorry, she always gets excited when we get visitors,” Thorin caught her at her collar and sent her back inside, asking Fili to take care of her. The boy gave Bilbo a small, welcoming smile before he disappeared inside, escorting Bailey back to the living room.

“Didn’t you come by car?” The professor asked, both hands in his pockets and looking for Bilbo’s Skoda.

“I-I parked it next to the church,” Bilbo peeped, tugging at his tie, _yes_ he wore a tie for Christmas, a tie a white shirt and a grey cardigan.

Thorin scratched the back of his head, giving Bilbo a nod.

“C’mon in then,” he offered, helping Kili up from the floor and finally closing the door behind Bilbo.

When he put down the bags in the corridor behind the door, he finally got a chance to breath. Fili must have sat down at the piano again and he heard the boys talking in the living room. Thorin turned around to him, taking his coat and gloves and storing them away in the overflowing wardrobe.

“The kitchen is this way,” he gestured towards Bilbo’s bags.

“Oh… yes, of course!” was all he managed to say.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, no I’ve got everything,” Bilbo put the bags on the kitchen counter.

Their home looked lovely. They had a light, parquet floor and the walls were coloured in yellow and velvet, shelves and books everywhere and many plants and paintings. There was a long table in the living room and behind that a black piano. On the left, three couches were circling a fireplace and a television that was running, but muted. A long line of windows made the north wall, allowing a grand view into the garden and the lawns behind. Finally, a winding stair-case next to the table led the way up into the next floor.

“We cleaned up yesterday, but I fear the boys managed to get it messy again,” Thorin apologised and started putting the cooled groceries into their fridge behind Bilbo in the kitchen that joined the living room next to the stairs.

As much as he loved sorted and tidy rooms, the chaos somehow made him worry less about them.

“It looks wonderful, really,” he reassured the professor.

Bilbo didn’t get the chance to properly talk to Fili and Kili when the wall clock in the kitchen tolled half past twelve and the doorbell rang. Bilbo followed the Durins into the corridor leading to the front door, curious whether they were getting more guests, but he quickly found out that Kili and Fili had been invited to go carolling and so the boys were already putting on their coats when Bilbo asked about it.

“Kili where is your beanie?” Thorin asked, looking through the wardrobe.

“I dunno,” the boy shrugged.

“Is it that one?” Bilbo pointed towards a red something on the dresser and got a hold of it before he put it on Kili’s head, making sure his ears were properly covered.

“Thank you!” the boy smiled and readjusted it, stepping outside the door.

When Thorin closed it, he let out a long breath.

“They can be quite a handful,” Bilbo offered and received a tired nod.

His opposite didn’t quite seem to know what to say or do, so they lingered in the corridor. In the kitchen, the clock finally tolled quarter to one and the sound of Bailey’s soft tads came from the living room. Bilbo bit his lip, closely observing the many shoes, scarves and coats in the open wardrobe and on the floor. It was so brilliantly awkward again, the two of them there in that corridor and Bilbo thought of the many awkward silences they had shared, always ending up like this.

“Do you want to start cooking?” Thorin asked, putting one more pair of gloves into the wardrobe and waking Bilbo from his daydreams.

Only then Bilbo really grasped how strange it was to stand right there, in a strange house on Christmas Eve, sending out the boys to go carolling and being about to prepare dinner.

“Yes, of course,” he still answered, scurrying to the kitchen behind Thorin.

The professor showed him how oven and hearth worked and where he could find knives, spoons and herbs. When Bilbo started taking his groceries out of the fridge, he remained with him at first, arms crossed and curiously eying what Bilbo was doing. He eventually excused himself to his office though; he wanted to finish writing Christmas cards and asked Bilbo to simply call for him if he needed anything. Then he thankfully left him alone, turning on the radio in the living room on his way upstairs.

Bilbo’s shoulders relaxed the instant he had heard his steps on the stairs. Being watched in general made him feel uneasy, but being watched by someone that had the most flesh-piercing and thrilling blue eyes, broad shoulders and soft hands was even more disturbing. He wore this wonderful, nice grey pullover that seemed to be made from cashmere because the one time Bilbo had accidentally touched it, it had felt like thousand cushions from a world of light feathers. His beard was gone again, leaving his white cheeks uncovered and beautiful. Bilbo blushed while cleaning the chicken and rolled his shoulders, trying to focus on cooking again, instead of imagining Thorin back in the kitchen.

He really tried not to spy, _he really did_ , but it was simply impossible.  
Above the sink hung a blackboard with uncountable photographs, drawings and papers pinned to it. Some were not familiar to Bilbo, were doctor’s appointments, strange telephone numbers, the boys’ time table and the devaluated cinema tickets of ‘How to Train Your Dragon’. Others were drawings, sketches or photographs, _beautiful photographs_. It seemed as if they had tried to make up for their inward trouble with making their home as friendly and harmonic as possible. The photographs showed the brothers on the couch, Fili reading to his younger brother, Bailey swimming in what seemed to be the sea or a lake, Bailey with the brothers, Fili at the piano. None of them showed Thorin and the only picture that did not depict a household member of the Durins, was a photograph of a woman in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Bilbo took it down after putting the chicken in the oven and drying his hands. The young, brown haired woman wore big, white sunglasses and a yellow dress. Her smile was a radiant as the setting sun behind her and the Eiffel Tower. It was the same woman he had seen singing months ago at night, on the video tape in the professor’s office. He turned the picture around.

_Desiree, 24. October 2012, Paris_

The year before she had passed. It seemed as if a languid melancholy lay over her, the fatigue of a long day in Paris and the grey foreshadowing of what was yet to happen to her. He heard the water flowing in the Seine, even though it was hundredths of leagues away and the strange laughter of whoever had taken the picture and then the soft tunes of Kili’s music box.

When he looked up to the blackboard, he saw that underneath the picture, a small condolence card was attached. It showed a white rose, underneath that, it read in small letters:

_Desiree Jacobine Durin  
* 24. Jan 1979 †17. Mar 2013_

_I haven’t left you, I have just gone home,_  
but the tunes of my life will resonate within you.  
  
 _In deepest sorrow,_  
Kili and Fili Durin  
Thorin Durin  
Paul and Elise Emmery  
Esther and Heinz Rosenherz  
Marie Hellinger and relatives

  
Bilbo remembered these kinds of cards. They had been given out at his mother’s funeral too, a friend of hers had organized them and each of the funeral guests had received one. He didn’t dare taking it down too, but pinned the photograph back to the blackboard, covering up the card. Heavy hearted, he spent another minute looking at Dis’ smiling face, before he turned back to his vegetables chopping them for his soup.

He wondered whether the professor would come down to the kitchen until the boys were back. He was almost done, even with the desert, when the clock hit four, a deep _gong_ resounding in the kitchen. Thorin had shown him almost everything, but now that his tomatoes had cooked long enough, he needed to blend them, but the blender wasn’t in the cabinet with the other kitchen attire, pots and pans. Bilbo scratched his head, the other back of his hand on his hip, carefully considering whether going through all the cupboards and containers was less indecent than climbing the stairs and simply asking. He first tried finding it on his own, but it wasn’t in one of the lower cabinets and the ones on the wall, _well_ , he was tall enough to open them, but not nearly tall enough to see anything, let alone retrieve a blender from them.

Silently, he walked up into the living room, over to the stairs and looked upwards. Upstairs, it was dark. The music from the radio was the only noise he heard.

_He must have closed his door.  
_

Slowly, one by one and ever so silently, he climbed the steps of the winding stair until he had reached the next floor. Bilbo counted six doors, leading away from the broad corridor with only a small window facing the street, three rooms on each side. The one closest to the stairs seemed to be one of the boys’ rooms, the door stood slightly ajar and inside, clothes, folders, sheets of paper and books lay chaotically on the ground. It made him smile. He wondered whether it was KilI's or Fili's and if the other's room was he same or if only one of the was a little slob.

He passed it then with a few steps and crossed the floor where another door stood ajar. Through the door crack he could see a large bed on a carpet, but nothing else really filling the room. Thorin's room, undoubtedly. Dark blue double sheets, one of his grey pullovers on the neatly made bed and his usual brown shoes on the floor more than gave it away, really. Bilbo felt like an intruder again, slightly blushing, but not really able yet to turn away from the view he will probably never get to see again.

“Can I help you?”

Bilbo shrieked, moving a few steps again.  
Unnoticed, the door right behind him on the opposite side of the floor had flung open and revealed a small study and the professor that was standing in its doorframe, brow furrowed and arms crossed again.

“Good Lord!” Bilbo stood straight and tensed one arm in teh doorframe of Thorin's room, steadying himself.

“Is everything alright?” The professor asked, his face now more apprehensive than questioning.

“Yes, yes, I mean…,” Bilbo was gasping for air, he wasn’t good at being scared, _he really, really wasn’t!_   “I-I couldn’t find the blender, and I, I wanted to ask where it was,” he ended his sentence closing his eyes and letting out one, long breath.

“It’s in the cupboard above the oven, you...” Thorin paused, then chuckled and Bilbo looked at him in disbelieve.

“I see,” Thorin said, hiding his grin behind his hand.

He had never heard him chuckle like this. _Yes, blimey, he was too small to reach the damn cupboard!_ He didn’t need the professor laughing about it!  
But he did and somehow, it made Bilbo smile.

“Are you done with your postcards?” He asked when Thorin finally handed him the blender.

“Yes,” he gave Bilbo a nod and peaked into the oven.

“When will the boys be back?” Bilbo bent down as well, checking if the chicken was already getting brown.

“Soon, I would guess,” Thorin looked at his watch, “what have you cooked for us?” He then asked, gesturing at the chicken.

“Oh,” Bilbo smiled, “nothing special, just some tomatoes soup, stuffed chicken and strawberry cream, I hope they’ll like it.”

“They will,” Thorin looked at the blackboard, letting out a long sigh, “we didn’t have a big Christmas last year.”

Bilbo’s glance fell upon Dis' face again and suddenly it was, as if all the melancholia from the picture swam out of the picture, imbuing them in the kitchen.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Thorin scratched the back of his head again and spoke more softly and silently than Bilbo had ever heard.

At first he didn’t know what to respond. It was all so brilliantly messed up and unprofessional, the two of them in that kitchen, far away from every reality, a few weeks and months after fighting over privacy and intruding someone’s space. It was ridiculous, really. He didn't deserve this.

“Me too,” was Bilbo’s simple answer along with an encouraging smile. _He couldn't say anything else, could he?_

_But maybe, just maybe, they were on the best way to becoming friends. Really good friends. And he would be fine with that. He knew he would.  
Eventually._

 

Dusk quickly set above the empty streets of Acomb, distempering the empty streets, gardens and fields in bleak but shining colours. No people were outside anymore. Evening was setting, announcing Christmas Day. It was beautiful to watch from he windows in the living room. Bilbo loved his appartment, he really did, how it had two floors, his bed and bathroom upstairs and everything else downstairs and it all being connected through white stairs and the huge bookcase, but this, _this_ was different than his view on the streets before his house. This was ancient, almost magical and he enyoed every bit of the weak sun making the snow glitter.

They were already laying the table when the boys came home. Kili was half covered in snow and his clothes were dripping. Thorin sent him right up into the shower to get warm again. Fili had stayed almost dry, only the legs of his trousers being a little wet and his shoes all muddy and brown.

“Did you get many sweets?” Bilbo asked him when he came downstairs again, wearing a red pullover now and a pair of black jeans. Thorin had told him that it was an accustomed tradition that the children of the street would go carolling on December 24th and receive treats in return.

“I wouldn’t count on Kili eating much of your dinner," was Fili's short, but annoyed answer when he turned the music off and sat down at his piano again while Bilbo watched him and put the rest of the cutlery on the table. Kili came down shortly after and his older brother moved a little to the right and let him sit down next to him and watch how he carefully played the keys while snuggling into him.  
They would have probably sat there for the rest of the evening, had there not been Bilbo’s stuffed chicken that radiated a mouth watering smell in the entire house.

They sat at the table, Bilbo next to Kili with the living room windows and the garden to their backs, opposite to Fili and Thorin. Bilbo had actually intended to let them eat the soup first, but Kili had fast developed a strategy to dip his chicken in the tomatoes soup and eat it like that. In the end, it didn’t make much of a difference and as long as they liked it, Bilbo was satisfied. _More than satisfied actually_. He couldn't remember a Christma as happy and lively like this, even in the years before his mother's passing it had only been the two of them in front of a fireplace or the telly. This, this was much more precious, the boys cheery and happy like Bilbo had rarely ever seen them and the professor relaxed and calm interacting with the naturally. He was glad they got along so well and he banned every thought from his mind, giving himself the credit for it. As horrible as _the worst day_ had been, if eventually it had brought the Durins closer together, it might have been worth the turmoil.  
While eating, Thorin asked them how carolling at been, whom they had joined and visited and if old Mrs. Hudson had opened them. The boys never stopped eating while they were talking, stuffing themselves with Bilbo’s chicken and finally the strawberry cream. It hadn’t been a traditional Christmas Dinner, but it seemed to have tasted them well. Sitting there with them, it all felt so natural, so utterly carefree, it almost stung his heart when he caught Thorin looking at the clock above the fireplace, and was reminded of the fact, that none if it actually was.

It was probably late enough anyway, Bilbo told himself, trying to swallow the unfair disappointment. He might not be the fastest to grasp details, but he understood when someone was subtly trying to make him leave.

“Shall we clean up then?” He asked of his own accord, not willing to be an intruder any longer that they would have him.

“We need to get Bailey out first,” Thorin muttered, his glance now drifting through the living room and finding the she-dog next to the couch, “it’s almost nine.”

Bilbo blinked and just a moment later he felt ashamed for thinking they were trying to get rid of him. The dog needed to get out, of course. Nervously he crossed his arms, nodding and peeping: “Yes, of course.”

“Shall we _all_ go?” Fili asked, looking out of the window and into the garden.

It had started snowing and the air was white as fresh cotton.

“Mister Baggins?” Thorin turned towards him, apparently leaving the decision with him and offering a friendly smile.

_Oh please don't Mister Baggins me. He didn’t deserve this. He really didn’t!_

Walking in the snow at night was fantastic. Bailey kept trying to catch snowflakes with her tongue and Kili ran after her wherever she jumped, his older brother following him on his uncle’s request to keep an eye on them, leaving Bilbo and Thorin a few yards behind, walking next to each other through the snow.

For a while, they trudged through the snow in silence. The pictures of the evening played like a slideshow in Bilbo’s mind and he dared not to speak, simply because he was afraid a futile conversation would ruin the evening and Thorin was watching out after his nephews anyway. Instead, he sent up a silent prayer, thanking God or the universe or fate for the wonderful time he had been granted. If someone could only make those... _feelings_ go away soon. He would be very thankful of that, really.

“Fili told me the poem was your idea?”

“Pardon me?” Bilbo peeped, a little bit scared, partly for being woken from pondering.

“At the Erebor Birthday, the poem he… recited on stage.”

Bilbo gave him a long nod, not really a yes for his answer, but more a currency to buy time and think up an explanation.

“I encouraged them all to read something of their own,” he managed to say in the end, looking down into the snow where his feet were leaving deep footsteps.

“But Fili didn’t want to?”

“No he didn’t, he though you would… you would be mad,” he built up his courage and looked up at the taller man next to him.  
The boys were yelling in the distance.

“He didn’t come home that night,” the professor whispered, looking in the way of his nephews.

“Kili told me he went to the library?” Bilbo tried.

Thorin nodded.

“What did he do there?”

“Read. He just sat underneath one of the shelves and read Jules Verne.”

“Jules Verne?”

“ _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ , he was almost halfway through it when a librarian found him and called James, not me, James.”

Bilbo slowly nodded, more to himself than to the professor.

“We were looking for him for hours, he said he had wanted to be alone, nothing more.”

“He’s back now,” Bilbo offered encouragingly, but he could see that the professor wasn’t finished yet.

“It looks so easy when you talk to them,” he finally admitted, and there was jealousy in his voice, and regret and Bilbo felt horrible for it, Thorin didn't deserve this, none of it and all of a sudden he understood that maybe yes, yes he had crossed a line, he had most definetly crossed a line. He wasn't supposed to have that good rapport with the boys, Thorin was. And it made bilbo feel utterly guilty.

He had no answer for him still. There simply was nothing to say, nothing to justify himself, no tips or tricks or any good advice he had for him.  
What did one say to a man who had lost his sister and had to raise her two young boys all on his own?  
  
Bilbo looked into the distance where Fili, Kili and Bailey were playing in the snow.

“I am here,” he stopped walking, “if there is anything I can help with.” It really took all his courage to speak, but eventually he was glad he had.

Thorin stopped as well.

“I-I know we didn’t have that much of a good start,” he shrugged, “b-but I can help, if that would make it easier…” _for you._

The professor didn’t speak for a moment and it puzzled Bilbo what he might be thinking about, whether he would shout at him again and he had just ruined it, but none of that happened. The professor only carefully removed the glove from his right hand and reached out to Bilbo.

“Thorin.”

It took him a second to process, but then he hurriedly did the same, taking his hand with a soft smile and shaking it.

“Bilbo.”

_Maybe they really were on a good way._   
  


Upon arriving back at the house, Thorin had the boys and Bilbo remove their boots from their feet outside the door. He even took a towel to dry Bailey before they made a small fire in the fireplace and Fili played ‘Auld Lang Syne’ for them on the piano.  
Bilbo and Kili listened to him from the couch, Kili stretching out over the smallest one and Bilbo lingering right next to the fireplace, while Thorin had sat down on a chair, closer to Fili and watching him play.

The calmness was only stirred when Kili noticed three new, small packages beneath the Christmas tree that hadn’t been there when they had left for carolling.

“Oh, uncle please, can we unwrap at least one each?” he pleaded, stopping Fili’s play while Bilbo was chuckling.

“Did you bring us presents?” Fili turned around, looking at Bilbo.

“Nothing big,” he waved it off, “I didn’t have too much time to find something.”

“Which one is for whom then?” Kili asked, his eyes bigger than ever.

Bilbo got up and walked towards the Christmas tree. The presents for Kili and Fili both had the same size: rectangular and flat. The third one was wrapped in white paper and had the form of a cube. He had put them beneath the tree before he had started cooking in the afternoon. They each held a tiny card reading ‘ _Merry Christmas – B.B._ ’, so they wouldn’t wonder who they had come from, he hadn't planned to have them opened tonight.

“Open them if Mister Baggins is fine with it,” Thorin stated, emptying his glass from earlier.

Bilbo nodded, giving the two flat packages to the boys, who quickly started unwrapping them.

“Is that the original _‘Inkheart’_?” Fili asked, quite amazed about the green and red German book in his hands when he had torn off all the paper.

“Yes, and the other one is the sequel, there is a third one too, but first see if you like those,” Bilbo explained, cleaning his glasses.

There had never been a wider smile on Fili’s face, at least Bilbo had never seen one.

“Thank you,” he said and smiled again, opening the first book right where he sat.

“What is a _Drachenreiter_?” Kili asked, looking at the upper one of his books.

“Someone that rides on a dragon,” Bilbo answered.

The boy’s eyes grew even bigger, he didn’t even look at the other novel, but got up and sat down right next to his brother, opening his book as well.

“Kili.” Thorin urged him and they both looked up.

“Oh, thank you Mister Baggins!” He smiled, waiting for Bilbo to allow him to read on.

“You’re welcome, I hope you’ll like it,” Bilbo replied, but the boys didn’t listen anymore, the content of their books apparently was more interesting.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin huffed and shook his head in disbelief, “you must believe we have no manners.”

“I believe I wasn’t much different as a child,” Bilbo murmured, taking the white cube into his hand, handing it over to the professor, “thank you for having me,” he quietly said, his heart skipping a beat when he took it from him and ever so slightly touching his fingers. Bilbo watched him carefully unpacking the unlikely cube he had bought at the museum in Leeds. It showed Kandinsky’s paintings on each side and could be opened to reveal even more.

“Ah, the man with the music in his paintings,” Thorin chuckled, eagerly unfolding and folding the cube to see all the different sides, “you know that wasn’t necessary,” he upbraided Bilbo with a thankful smile.

“It just caught my eye,” he said, looking at it, away from Thorin’s face.

“It’s beautiful, I will put it on my desk at Erebor,” he sat it on the table for now, getting up and walking over to one of the cupboards next to the television.

_Oh darn._

“I wasn’t really sure about it, I just thought you might like it,” he cleared his throat and scratched his neck again.

Bilbo first couldn’t see what he was holding in his hands, but it was wrapped up in brown paper anyway and tied up with strings.

“Now _this_ wasn’t necessary,” Bilbo blushed a little when he held in his hands, carefully setting it down on the table. They had spared him of a Christmas alone watching the rerun of Downton Abbey.

“It just caught my eye,” the professor argued in his deep, dark voice, the familiar, ironic smile right on his lips.

Carefully, really carefully, Bilbo untied the strings around the package and removed the brown paper.

“I saw it in at the antiquarian bookseller’s in the Northumberland Street, they didn’t have any German or Latin poetry though,” Thorin apologised.

It was beautiful, beautiful beyond compare. Behind a glass frame, Bilbo read the last stanza of _‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’_ in blue calligraphy, the script surrounded by aquarelle sketches of trees, acorns, winter flowers and snowflakes.

“I cannot accept this," he tolerably muttered entirely in awe, "it must have been a fortune."

The professor’s glance still lay upon the frame, but he looked up when Bilbo spoke.

“I bought it, so you could remind me of it whenever I need it,” he pointed at the last lines, “I still have _miles to go_ … with them,” he looked at the boys, reading on the floor.

Bilbo blinked and his heart felt heavy when he looked back on Frost’s most beautiful piece of poetry.

“I shall try then,” he offered, a smile appearing on both their faces, while outside the snow had stopped, leaving all streets, houses and gardens cover in white powder snow.

 

 

They had closed the roads off the night before. Not that anyone cared, everyone was busy with their Christmas feasts or family get-togethers. They had told them there would by people coming in to shovel the snow from the streets so they could all return to the city after Christmas, but he didn’t even think of going back anyway. He had planned to only be staying in Sussex for a week, but the country life delighted him. It was so dull and full of old amusement and he didn't have to think about ... _her_.

He had given the staff the day off, note even Carole was working today. Technically, she was of course, but she was upstairs with Justin, having lunch together with the chauffeur and Misses Bennet. Not even he possessed the indecency to disturb them and watching the landscape form his heated winter garden kept him occupied for now.

In the distance, he saw his stable boys moving the horses on the paddock, and a family passed by the estate, Londoners on their Christmas vacation probably.  
When _Weihnachtsconcerto Nr.3_ stopped, he sat down his glass of Whisky and started it anew himself, no need to bother Carole. Walking back to his armchair, he passed the small table with magazines and books he was reading, or had been reading once and stopped for whatever reason. He picked up one at random and sat down again in his chair, opening it where he had stopped reading last year.

_Captain Nemo pointed to this prodigious heap of shellfish, and I saw that these mines were genuinely inexhaustible, since nature's creative powers are greater than man's destructive instincts…_

Jules Verne was his favorite after all, he mused, the Cello music keeping him company while he was traveling twenty-thousand leagues beneath the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it, I promised I would! Hey yah, were moving somewhere, Christmas is upon us (in late May mind you...), I love how this is all developing, there are pieces in there I hadn't planned in the first drafts but they are perfect (at leats to me :P . I really, really hope I'm on the right track and I catch both of them nicely... anyhow, I hope you like this and I will continue as soon as possible! Thank you for all your wonderful feedback!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some new [Cover Art](http://magnolie.co.vu/post/85546802065/fides-et-veritas-english-chemistry) (more posted below!)

 

He went to church on Christmas Day. He hadn’t been in a church in years (not counting the various times he had sat in the _chapel_ at Erebor). He wasn’t sure what initially had drawn him to it, he had really just wanted to get some fresh air when he had left his apartment. The St. Mary’s church was only around the corner of his house, but he had never noticed it before. It was old, made from dark stone bricks and undoubtedly Catholic. Light came shining though its windows when Bilbo had wanted to take just a peak. Eventually, the choir had made him stay. Upon entering, he had sat down in the last row, watching the choir in front of the altar, twenty maybe thirty people all singing _‘In the Bleak Mid Winter’_ together wearing red robes with white overhangs while the nave was decently filled with at least a hundredth auditors.

The song seemed to never stop. Maybe they started a new one after they had ended, but Bilbo never heard it. When no priest came to shush them away, Bilbo’s glance fell on a yellow leaflet on the low shelf before him. Only then he noticed that he wasn’t in a mass, but instead the leaflet was to accompany a Christmas concert, organized by the church’s choir. They thankfully didn’t ask for an entrance fee (Bilbo had already started worrying it would look as if he sneaked in later to get around that) , but kindly suggested a donation for their project, a fund supporting the local ‘make a wish’- foundation, the red boxes at the church entrance were meant for that.

Bilbo stayed for quite another while. Later, he couldn’t tell for how long exactly. He had only sneaked out when he had started to shiver in his jacket and the hard wooden bench had started to make sitting uncomfortable. He felt a little guilty when he found that he didn’t have any _real_ money with him and tried to empty his coin pocket into the red boxes, a noise that made half the audience turn around. Only when St. Mary’s disappeared behind him in the darkness did the feeling of sudden awkwardness leave him. He wasn’t made for churches, he really wasn’t! He had close to no understanding how one behaved in a church that was not Erebor, but somewhere and somehow there on that wooden bench, with the choir singing old Christmas carols, he had found a chance to be thankful. It was the same feeling of thankfulness that consumed him now that he was watching Thorin with his students.

He was leaning in the doorframe of the Mendelssohn-auditorium, from his angle perfectly able to see Thorin at the whiteboard, writing down Chemical equations, but completely hidden from any possible curious glances of Thorin or his students. He had first wondered why they were using the auditorium for a simple class about… acids if he got that right, but then he remembered the sulphuric stench he had smelled in the morning when passing the science classrooms. Probably a First Year Experiment gone wrong (or right, who could tell?), but definitely polluting the air in that wing for the rest of the day.

He had other things to do. He really had. There was a pile of homework on his desk he still had to correct and he needed to schedule private meetings with his students to talk to them about their grades and development and whether he was thinking they could improve here and there, but the sight was just too perfect. The professor whore black trousers, maybe jeans, and a blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaning against the table and listening to the request of one of his students. _Oh bummer, where had he gotten himself into?_ This wasn’t supposed to happen; he wasn’t a school boy anymore! He knew could count himself lucky. They had resolved their issues, work finally didn’t have an unpleasant aftertaste anymore and he had just spent the maybe nicest Christmas of all times. Couldn’t that be enough? Was he really _that_ greedy?

He had seen them twice after Christmas. After New Year’s Eve he had picked up the boys and Bailey to do another snow walk. It all seemed so easy then. They had gotten cake and eaten it later all four of them together at the table in the living room and Fili had played the piano again before Bilbo had left late in the afternoon much later than he had anticipated. Friendship was enough, wasn’t it? They were a part of his life now, all three of them. Kili with his loud and childish attitudes, Fili with his calm and protective mood next to moments filled with laughter and ridiculousness and Thorin. Thorin with his voice, his smell and his still sometimes withholding behaviour, never completely sure how to act around his nephews. He would dwell forever on the question whether that would ever be enough. He was way past the point where simply ignoring those little heartaches and butterflies had been possible.

He had been ever since the second time he had seen them, Kili and Thorin, playing with Bailey in the same park Bilbo had met Thorin after the worst day. Kili had been chasing after Bailey who had been chasing after a rabbit while he and Thorin had talked about school. He could still remember Kili’s loud shriek when he fell hands forward onto the stony path leaving them bleeding and hurtful and Kili crying. Bilbo had helped him to sit up, watching Thorin caring, but not able to make it known while Kili was crying loudly, his hands shaking more from shock than from pain. Thorin had picked up Kili’s beanie then and put it on the boy’s head.

“Let’s go home and look after that, shall we?” he had asked ever so calmly, putting on a small smile and using a handkerchief to carefully clean Kili’s hands and adding “it’s just a scratch, it will go away soon,” and Kili had stared at him, tears still flowing from his eyes, sniffling, sitting half in Bilbo’s lap. And Bilbo had looked at Thorin, right into his soft eyes, and no, no there was no return from this was there? There was no way to keep this stored away somewhere inside his heart like he had on Christmas Eve, there was no way this would just simply go away.

He let out a silent sigh. He remembered promising Kili to finally get that hot chocolate and cake with him, the one they never got to finish last autumn when Kili had decided to just run away from Erebor and walk all the way home to York. That was the only reason Bilbo finally managed to turn around and walk away from the auditorium, they had scheduled their ‘cake-date’ (that was what Kili had started calling it, not him) for today after lunch and if he wanted to make it until then, he still had that pile of homework on his desk to work through.

 

It was surprisingly easy long forgotten when they entered Betty’s at around half past two that day, the sky grey and the snow all muddy on the streets. Bilbo avoided the table they had sat at last time and let Kili chose one of the few free ones in the back of the teahouse.

“Are your hands well again?” Bilbo asked when they had sat down, cleaning his glasses.

“All fine,” Kili answered, proudly showing him the palms of his hands.

“Did it hurt much for long?”

“No, not really. Thorin had some balm we put on it every day and it healed super-quickly.”

“Next time you might want to watch your feet when chasing after Bailey,” Bilbo suggested with a smile, taking the menu from a waitress that had approached them.

“But Bailey was chasing a rabbit! She would have killed it,” Kili protested.

“But Bailey is much faster than you, isn’t she? How were you going to save that rabbit from her?”

It left the boy speechless for a moment, giving Bilbo time to order two hot chocolates (this time both with crème) and a tray with a variety of small pastries and tartlets.

“I would have gotten her eventually,” Kili said, shifting in his chair and playing with his table napkin.

“Just be more careful next time, alright? You had me and your uncle worried.”

Kili gave him a wily smile and Bilbo shook his head, finally putting his glasses back on.

Kili had his hot chocolate half empty before the cake even arrived at their table and the tearoom was slowly filling, the whole room filling with pleasant noise, chatter and the most different smells of tea, coffee, perfume and fruit. He had asked Kili about his New Year’s Eve, his other Christmas presents and whether he was still reading his books.

“I’m already done with mine,” the boy proudly replied within two sips, “and I started with Inkheart.”

“Did you like it so far?”

“I liked the ghosthunters and dragonriders better,” he shrugged and made Bilbo smile. He might need a few more years until he was old enough for that then, he had anticipated something like that when he had thought about getting all three Inkeart novels for them, but changed his mind. Eleven was a little young for that still, and Funke had written so many great novels for younger children.

“I would like to read that next book about the ghosthunters,” Kili sheepishly added, stopping Bilbo’s train of thought.

“How did you know there was a _next_ book?” There were in fact four.

“I googled it on Fili’s computer,” he admitted, looking at his hot chocolate.

Bilbo had to chuckle. All that was missing to Kili’s face were some large, watery puppy-eyes and a pout.

“You know,” he took the spoon from his saucer carefully stirred his hot chocolate a little, “I do happen to have that book at home, so if you want to, you can borrow it,” he took a sip from his cup, his eyes still fixed on Kili who looked up at him in an instant.

“Yes please!” He nodded eagerly, “can we get it now?” He almost stood.

“How about I bring it to school tomorrow” Bilbo chuckled and put down his cup again. The cake arrived in that very moment, making Kili’s slightly disappointed face lighten up like a bulb once more and soon he had forgotten that he had wanted to leave a minute ago.

They had two small fruit tartlets, one with raspberries and one with blackberries, alongside countless macaroons and other pastries Bilbo didn’t know the names of, but tasted like heaven (he’d rather not know what his calorie intake looked like after their visit at the teahouse).

“So, how is Fili doing?” He asked in between cakes.

“He’s alright,” Kili nodded, “he’s got a concert on Friday and never stops playing,” he complained, “and he’s always playing the same things and he can’t play any nice music.”

“Nice music?”

“Yeah, like, you know, actual music from the radio so you can sing along!”

“What is he playing then?” Bilbo asked with a furrow of his brow.

“I dunno,” Kili sighed and nibbled at his tartlet, “something really old and things that don’t have names but numbers.”

“You could ask him, if he could play some songs for you,” Bilbo suggested, taking another sip form his hot chocolate.

“But he’s so busy all the time…”

“I’m sure he has some time for his little brother left, don’t you think?”

“He had more time when he wasn’t practicing for the concert,” he shrugged.

“Didn’t you say it was on Friday? Then it’s soon over and next week he’ll have more time for you, I’m sure,” Bilbo tried and encouraging smile.

“Do you play any instrument?” He asked then and Bilbo shook his head.

“No, I do like music though, how about you?”

“In Austria, I was in a choir,” he prattled, “but not anymore.”

“Do you not like it anymore?”

He didn’t receive an answer first; Kili only put the last piece of cake in his mouth and chewed on it for a full minute.

“Mum always sung in a choir at church.”

_Oh… right._

“And choirs are only for girls,” Kili quipped, replacing the thought of his mother with a long justification that only girls and little children sung in choirs and he was not so much as a little child anymore and very certainly not a girl.  
It made Bilbo chuckle.

He was always amazed at how easily both of them seemed to _“overcome”_ to death of their mother in their daily lives. He sometimes wondered whether there were times when they didn’t, times when they cried and gave up hiding the scars of their loss. He had seen it once, the last time they had sat here, when Kili had accused his uncle of being nothing more than their legal guardian. He also remembered the music box, the box Kili was convinced was mourning his mother. But that had all been before _the worst day_ and before things had (seemingly) become better with their uncle. He wondered whether Kili had ever gotten that music box back from Thorin, or whether it was still at Erebor.

Bilbo’s train of thought was easily stopped yet again when Kili’s attention was drawn away from the table and to the door. The boy started waiving at something or someone Bilbo only identified when he turned around.  
It was Fili, rucksack over his left shoulder and a big folder in his hand. Upon seeing his brother waive at him, he quickly approached their table and Bilbo took his bag of the third chair so he could sit.

“I’m just picking up Kili,” explained with a small smile, sitting down nevertheless.

“But uncle said Bilbo would drive me home,” Kili disagreed.

“Do you want me to leave again?” Fili asked, putting his rucksack on the floor.

“No!” Kili shook his head eagerly, smiling at his brother.

“Would you like some tea?” Bilbo asked, Fili turning around.

“No thank you,” the boy replied, “the music-academy is just around the corner and I thought I would just drop by and pick him up.”

“How are lessons going then?” Bilbo emptied his cup.

“Fine,” it seemed as if he’d remembered something he had forgotten, “I wanted to ask you something, I have a concert on Friday and we all got three cards for our parents and siblings so I thought,” he cleared his throat and sat on his fingers, “maybe you wanted to come?”

Bilbo’s eyes grew a little bigger and a smile filled his face.

“I would absolutely love to Fili,” Bilbo returned the smile that was instantly growing wider on Fili’s face, “when should I be…”

“It’s at the Grand Opera House, Friday night, I can get you the ticket tomorrow!”

“That sounds wonderful,” Bilbo was completely bedazzled. The Grand Opera House, where exactly did Fili take piano lessons? His heart suddenly felt very warm and a sense of honour filled him, making him sit up taller.

“What will you play?” He asked.

“Two pieces from _Les Mis_ , but that’s for one of the girls who will sing and then I play Beethoven.”

“Wow, that sounds demanding,” Bilbo worried, but Fili only shook his head.

“Once you get the hang of it, it’s just keys on a piano.”

Bilbo let out a laugh. He had once tried to play the piano at his cousin Primula’s place and all he had managed was _‘The wheels on the bus go round and round’_. He had absolutely no clue how a fourteen-year-old (that looked even younger) was able to play Beethoven at York’s Grand Opera House. Well, there were still wunderkinds in the world apparently.

He let Kili finish his last pastry and finally empty that cup of hot chocolate before he paid and walked them down the road to where his car was parked and the boys would have to take the bus. Kili thanked him for the cake with (a rather) unexpected, but kind hug and Fili said goodbye by telling him how much he was looking forward to Friday now.

 _Finally a good day_ , Bilbo thought when he parked his car in front of his apartment house and locked it for the evening and realised that he had actually had a whole bunch of good days lately. The museum at Leeds, Erebor Birthday, Christmas, the snow walk in early January (not so much the day Kili had tried to chase Bailey though) and today. Loads of wonderful days he could be thankful for rather than spending his time complaining about unrequited feelings that still seemed to bother him like a paper cut in every beautiful moment.

He took a deep breath when he entered his apartment. He had left the window open in the morning and the cold had slipped through it, the wind playing with his white curtains, only silence surrounding him. For just a moment, he filled that silence with what he had forbidden himself to think about, imagining a life in pastel colours before his eyes, a life with Thorin, the boys and Bailey. A life filled with piano music and cakes and hot chocolate and books. And a life next to that horrible, complicated, intelligent, gentle man he had fallen in love with. He didn’t know where it suddenly came from, but once he heard all the laughter and music in his ears, it seemed impossible to forget about them again. He saw himself walking down the winding stairs in the morning when rest of the house was still asleep, making pancakes and fruit salad for them and waking Thorin with light kisses before the boys smelled their breakfast, their happy clamour filling the house.

Somehow he longed for those arms and Thorin’s body that always seemed to be radiating warmth. He imagined waking up next to him in his own bedroom and spending a whole day in bed reading to each other and maybe finally understanding some basic chemistry while the boys were with one of their friends. A simple life together, that was all he saw. Nothing special, no fancy house in Belgravia, no expensive watches or cars, just the four of them in the same setting they lived now.

 _The same setting_. That was where his daydreams shattered. Just hypothetically, if that professor of his was in fact gay (which he wasn’t), and somehow they would manage to ever make it so more than friendship (which they wouldn’t because the head teacher of a Christian school wasn’t gay) they were very well still both teachers at same Christian school. A job he loved very much, but that came with the restriction of him not being in a relationship with another man. So no ‘same setting’ even after all these ifs (and that were quite some big ifs) he would no longer be able to teach at Erebor and neither would Thorin and he wasn’t even sure if he would want to make that sacrifice himself. He probably didn’t have to debate whether the man that had somehow ‘inherited’ the position of the headmaster would be willing to leave that behind. His mouth suddenly felt dry and every breath he took in made his heart hurt.

He needed a glass of water. He very much needed of a glass of water… and something stronger, there was still some Scotch left in his cabinet from New Year’s Eve with his neighbours.

He had the bottle already out when his doorbell rang. For a second he debated going on with his business and ignoring whoever was outside, but then, what if it was important? He let out a long moan and put the Scotch back on the counter, hobbling to the door and opening it without even checking who stood in front.

It was Henry, Henry Bofur, wearing his huge, ridiculous head he had gotten from Iceland or Norway or whatever, the cheeriest smile on his lips.

“Oi, we’re having a crawl at McMurrows in an hour, came ‘te pick yah up.”

Bilbo furrowed his brow. A crawl? More probably a booze-up.

“Who is we?” he asked.

“You, me, James, Aaron’s not coming but Alfred Nori and he’s bringing Phillip Oin and as far as I know Angus is also coming? Oh yes and Peter Balin.”

“And when exactly did you make that appointment?”

“Just an hour ago,” Henry grinned and finally let himself in, “we haven’t done anythin’ in forever, gotta do something now or another year’s over.”

“Henry,” he closed the door, “I don’t think I’m in the mood for drinking today,” he walked after him, to the kitchen of course, _thank you very much!_

“Then that Scotch bottle over there is filled with ice-tea I presume?”

Bilbo was just about to justify himself, but Bofur was already talking again.

“Were yah gonna drink all by ye’self?” He opened one of Bilbo’s cabinets, _always making himself at home without invitation of course_ , getting a second glass and filling both that and the one Bilbo had placed next to the bottle nicely.

“To life,” he said, handing one glass to Bilbo and half empting the other one.

Bilbo stared at the alcohol for quite some while. All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure he needed it anymore, he already had Henry. He swallowed it still. He knew it would (just as usual) not have much of an effect on him, but next to that there was the placebo effect, so maybe that would kick in and make those pastel-visions of him and Thorin in his bed go away. In the meantime, Henry had sat down on one of his couches, his legs on Bilbo’s glass table and the glass on the carpet.

“Tell me Bilbo, how have ye been?” he invited him to sit and Bilbo let himself fall into his armchair.

“Wonderful,” he concluded with a long sigh that made Bofur wrinkle his forehead.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes perfectly sure, everything’s how it should be, have you heard from Lily?” he tried shifting the conversation.

“She’s with’er parents, helping them move to upstate New York, comin’ back ina couple’a weeks.”

“Great!” Bilbo started nodding, looking not so great though causing Bofur to scrutinize him.

“Something’s up, Bilbo, what is it?”

“I’m good, really, I’m just really not prepared for any visitors,” he lied.

He could see that Bofur wasn’t buying it, but he seemed to have decided not to dig any deeper because he started talking about Lily and her parents and that she was meeting all her old friends and finally horse-back riding again.

“Is she okay?” Bilbo asked after a while of listening.

“Well,” he paused, “she is better. You know, she was completely alone in her office when that alarm went on, locked the door and hid underneath her desk for an hour. She said she knew a girl who’d died in Columbine so, she wasn’t all too good when they found her.”

“She didn’t seem to be that terrified when they dragged _us_ out,” Bilbo murmured.

“Adrenalin probably, she said she first felt alright, given the circumstances, you know, but then when she came home and she was all alone…” he didn’t finish the sentence.

Bilbo remembered that he had gone straight to bed that evening. He had thrown in a sleeping pill, one of the good ones that were still left over from his last angina and slept until the next afternoon.

“They still don’t know who it was,” Bofur poured himself another half glass of Scotch, he had retrieved the bottle from the kitchen, “they’ll never catch him I guess.”

Bilbo didn’t answer, just shrugged.

“But anyway,” Bofur looked at his watch, “let’s go to the pub, shall we? No more dreading stories for tonight! That day’s long over, I won’t spend a single thought of it!” And there it was again, Bofur’s wide smile and positive attitude.

Bilbo still wasn’t sure whether an excursion to the nearest pub was the right choice of activity on a workday, but Henry had him out of his flat before he had known it and in the end he was glad for it.

Last year, they had actually done these kinds of things every other week with the Erebor teachers that lived in York, while the teachers from Leeds did the same (or so Bilbo had been told). One by one, each of the men that had promised to join entered the pub, seating themselves next to Bilbo and Henry and sharing their stories of the day, ordering Guinness and snacks. It got quite loud, just as it always did, the loudness making him forget about his worries.

In the end, Bilbo hated leaving the cheerful company, but it was getting late and the alcohol was finally kicking in. When Bofur escorted him outside, he gave him a firm hug making Bilbo promise to join them more often from now on. A promise Bilbo had gladly made.

 

The rest of the week passed unnoticed. Bilbo finally went down to the teacher’s room again to eat, ignoring Thorin as often as he could without being too apparent about it. Now that their table was almost empty, Gandalf and Lily always absent, Bofur had found them both chairs next to half of their ‘pub-club’, even farther away from where Thorin and the rest of the school administration sat. That way, Bilbo didn’t even get to talk to Thorin again until he opened the door for him on Friday evening, wearing black trousers and white shirt whose upper buttons were still open, a genteel, blue tie over his shoulders.

“You’re early,” he greeted Bilbo, looking at his watch.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, looking away from the piece of muscled chest before him.

“No worries,” Thorin continued buttoning up, stepping aside to let Bilbo in and closing the door behind him.

“Are the boys upstairs?” He asked when he didn’t hear the usual clamour from the living room.

“Yes, Kili is getting dressed and Fili is amending his music sheets he said.” Thorin walked past him through the corridor and into the living room, finding a mirror to make his tie, he stopped after his second, failed try, massaged his forehead and let out a sigh, “I think he’s a little nervous…”

His glance was filled with a little hope, directed towards Bilbo.

“Shall I go have a look at him?” He offered and Thorin gave him a thankful nod, “we’ve already had some discussions today and I don’t think he will see me.”

“Don’t worry,” Bilbo tried a smile, “I’ll check up on him, you do your tie.”

He didn’t see anymore how Thorin’s shoulders relaxed instantly and he also missed the thankful and relieved look on his face when he turned around and climbed up the stairs. Almost all doors were closed, only the last one was slightly ajar. He remembered that the first room had belonged to one of the boys and he quietly knocked on the door, waiting for a reply.

“Go away Thorin! I’m busy!”

“Fili? Fili it’s me, Bilbo.”

“I’m busy!”

“Maybe I can help.”

“No! Go away.”

“C’mon Fili open the door, it won’t take long.”

There was a long silence again, followed by the sound of a chair scratching over the floor and a few steps, walking towards the door.

Fili wore black trousers and a white shirt with a black bowtie. His hair was decently combed and he was still in grey socks with red polka dots, his polished shoes standing next to the door.

“What do you want?”

“Heard the stage fright is getting you,” Bilbo smiled.

“I’m good,” he left the door open and returned to his desk. The room was much tidier now, close to nothing covered the floor and his bed was decently made.  
Bilbo closed the door behind him and sat on Fili’s bed next to the large, round window.

“You’re amending your notes?”

“I can’t do it,” Fili murmured, looking at the sheet music before him, “I don’t know it by heart and I’m always too fast at the end of the second crescendo.”

“Of course you can do it, how long did you practice for this?”

“Not long enough,” he left himself fall back into his chair, arms crossed like a huffy, little child.

Bilbo debated for a second if there was anything good he could say, but then he re-decided and carefully opened his rucksack.

“You know,” he paused, “I was actually only going to give this to you after you played, but I guess you can use it better now.”

He had wrapped it into thin brown paper and put into a small, wooden box. It had only caught his eye last night when he had wanted to go to bed and walked up the stairs. He had once put it into the high shelf that stretched from his living room up into the first floor, but never used it. It must have been his mother’s once or his father’s, he couldn’t remember. When Fili unwrapped it, Bilbo was sure it had found a better owner.

“Is that a metronome?” Fili gasped.

Bilbo nodded.

“I didn’t even know I had it and I don’t play the piano so I reckoned it’d be put to better use with you.”

Kili turned the metronome around.

“But, Mister Baggins that is a _Wittner Metronome_ , do you have any idea how expensive they are?”

Bilbo shook his head, his face showing utter cluelessness.

“I can’t take it,” Fili responded.

“Of course you can and you will. If,” he paused, “you stop doubting yourself now and get your shoes so we can leave. Take it with you and use it if you’re allowed to.”

Bilbo winked, putting his hand on Fili’s shoulder. The boy’s mouth stood agape and he didn’t move or show any reaction before he put both his arms around Bilbo’s neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered and squeezed him, Bilbo returning the hug and smiling to himself.

“Now get your shoes or we’ll be too late!”

 

They weren’t too late. Thorin and Kili were already sitting downstairs, waiting for them to come down.

“Crisis prevented,” Bilbo whispered to Thorin when the boys were getting ready in the corridor and out of earshot.

“Thank you,” Thorin let out a relieved sigh and put his hand on Bilbo’s arm, sending a row of dizzy jolts through his skin.  


The Opera House was already filling when they arrived. They dropped off Fili at the backstage entrance before they took their seats on the gallery that was reserved for the friends and families of the participants.

“Do they do this every year?” Bilbo asked when they sat down and he got a chance to read the brochure.

“They are nominated by their teachers and play before the Opera committee before they’re allowed to perform, it’s something like a varsity concert every year but it’s the first time Fili is taking part,” Thorin answered.

“When’s he gonna play?”

Kili sat in between them, curiously looking down to the stage.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo scanned the programme, “right in the beginning, accompanying a Jennifer Hudson and then again towards the end,” he read.

Bilbo hadn’t even finished talking when the lights in the room were slowly dimmed. Only the stage remained all lit up when a middle-aged woman climbed the few stairs, standing behind the lectern.

Bilbo didn’t quite get her name; she had a French accent and introduced herself as the chancellor of the Royal York Music Academy, welcoming all guests, friends and family of the participants. She talked for quite a while, thanking the city and the Opera committee, explaining the alterations and innovations the school as undergone in the past year before she wished the audience a pleasant and _‘tres joyful’_ evening.

The first two students were sisters, Russians according to the name and both played the violin, wearing the same black dresses with white peter pan collars, hair long, brown and straight looking not at all cliché-russian-violine-player-girls. They performed tremendously though. The younger one couldn’t be older than Kili, the older one was at least fifteen. They bowed together when they finished and left the stage during their applause, disappearing behind the red curtains.

Bilbo hadn’t anticipated that it was Fili’s turn that early, but when the red curtain moved, he saw the blond boy sitting at the grand piano, sleeves moved up a little and waiting for the girl he was accompanying to begin.  
Bilbo couldn’t tell whether Fili made any mistakes, he hardly knew _Les Miserable_ and the focus really was on the singer, Fili’s playing almost in the background, pleasant to listen to nevertheless.

They stayed on stage for two songs Bilbo later forgot the names of and a loud applause escorted them from the stage when the red curtain fell and the two of them still bowed. This had probably not been the piece Fili had been so concerned about at home, Bilbo thought now. Two hours went by until they saw him again, he was second to last then and accompanied by a lanky, thin man that introduced him and named the sonata he would be playing before he left the stage again.

Fili didn’t start right away. He sat down and carefully put Bilbo’s metronome next to the chair on the ground. He didn’t set it in motion, he just put it there before he placed his hands on the piano keys and started to play.

It was wonderful to listen to him and watch him how he swayed, his fingers gracefully gliding over the keys, sometimes merely touching them and then hammering down on them again as if he was painting a picture with music.

_Paintings and Music._

Bilbo carefully turned his head away from Fili, his glance resting on Thorin, the right hand under his chin, smiling and watching his nephew play, filled with pride up to the ears. This was good. This was good enough, as good as it would ever get. He loved seeing him like that, proud and content, his eyes fixed on his nephew. Bilbo wanted nothing more than to take his hand and kiss it gently. And in the quiet of the music, Bilbo yet again found himself thankful beyond compare.

Thankful until he heard a light buzz and saw how something in Thorin’s pocket started lighting up. The professor first didn’t pay any attention to it, but when it stopped and started again, he took it out, touching Bilbo’s arm lightly and showing him the display.

_Insp. Archer._

Pain filled his face, pain and anger when he silently stood up, leaving a puzzled Kili with Bilbo on the gallery and making for the exit, looking down at Fili on the stage.

“Why is he leaving?” Kili whispered.

“He’s not leaving, he’ll be back right away,” Bilbo tried to appease him.

“Doesn’t he like it?” Kili worried.

“He just has to take that call, it’s really important.”

Behind them, someone shushed them angrily.

Of course Fili finished playing before Thorin was back and of course the boy looked up to them, smiling at first, his eyes fixed on Kili and Bilbo. It broke Bilbo’s heart how Fili first didn’t bow, his eyes busy with searching their row for Thorin, and how the smile faded from his face upon realising that his uncle wasn’t there, wasn’t clapping, and wasn’t showing him how proud he was.

Bilbo could see how Fili clenched his fists and bowed nevertheless; waving at the audience with a faked smile and leaving the stage before the red curtain dropped and the last participant of the evening entered the stage, a young man with a cello.

Bilbo didn’t see him again when they all came out one last time to bow before their audience and the French lady from the beginning thanked them all, the Opera committee handing flowers to the girls and officially closing the evening.

This was not going to be a pleasant ride back home, Bilbo feared when he and Kili left the gallery, waiting for everyone sitting before them emptying the ways between the seats. Thorin was waiting for them right outside and when Bilbo saw him, it needed all his willpower not to shout at him right away.

“Kili, do you want to fetch your brother and buy you two something to drink?”

He didn’t even look at Bilbo first, bending down and giving Kili a ten pound bill.

“Why did you leave?” The boy asked with a whiny voice.

“I’ll explain later, go get your brother, alright?”

Kili looked a little lost when Thorin wouldn’t explain to him what had moved him to go outside and take that call. He turned to Bilbo then and only moved when Bilbo repeated Thorin’s request.

“You know this was important to him?” Bilbo reproached him when Kili was out of ear shot.

“Someone broke into Dis’ house.” Thorin replied right away.

The pain Bilbo had noticed earlier was gone now, only anger had remained, anger and… desperation. His tie was loose, his face tired and churning.

“I didn’t even know she had a silent alarm, but apparently some neighbours told the police in Manchester that I was the owner and they called the police department in York first and somehow Archer got hold of it and he just called me.”

“I-I don’t think I understand…” Bilbo blathered and furrowed his brow. _Someone had broken into Desiree Durin’s old house? Why?_

“They want me to drive there now to see if anything was stolen.”

“Now? It’s almost ten, you won’t be there until midnight. What about the boys? Fili saw that you weren’t there for the applause, he probably thinks you didn’t hear him play at all.”

Bilbo saw how Thorin caught his breath and covered his eyes with his hand. There had been only one time Bilbo had seen him like this. They day he had found him at the World War memorial at the school, sitting underneath the flowers, face in his hands. Something stung inside his heart. He wasn’t supposed to look like that on such a nice evening. He wasn’t supposed to carry all that weight.

“Go, take the car and see if they took anything.”

“I can’t take the boys,” he groaned breath hitching.

“Give me your keys, we’ll take a cab home and I get them into bed and wait for you,” Bilbo tried to speak as calm as possible, soothing almost.

“No, I really can’t ask you to that,” he dissented.

“Of course you can, now give me your door key and leave, I’ll explain it to them.”

Thorin looked at him with a half-open mouth, before he closed it and let out a long breath, taking out his keys and fumbling the one for the door from the ring.

“Turn twice and pull a bit on the door if it won’t work right away.”

Bilbo nodded.

“I-”

“Go!”

Thorin gulped.

“Thank you, Bilbo.”

It was the first time he ever heard him say his name. Bilbo watched him turn around and walking towards the stairs before he yelled for him one last time and he turned back around.

“Drive safely!”

Bilbo saw him nod and a relieved but troubled, small smile appeared in his face before he ran down the stairs, Bilbo watching him disappear in the crowd, still petrified from hearing his own name and Thorin’s desperate face.

 _He needed to find the boys._ He reminded himself. _And then a cab to take them home._

Fili looked like a picture of misery when he found them. He hung in the lounge seat more than he sat, an untouched bottle of Fanta on the table, Kili next to him, drinking apple juice through a straw. Fili’s mien only darkened when he saw Bilbo approaching them.

“Hey,” Bilbo sat down, hands in his pockets, “you were really great.”

“Why did he leave?” Fili’s voice was filled with anger and disdain, he stared at some invisible spot on the table.

“He had to take a call, it was really important.”

Fili huffed.

“Everything is always more important.”

“You know that’s not true,” Bilbo tried.

“Sure it is. School is more important, James is more important, Kili is more important.”

“Hey!” his little brother objected.

“It was none of these things, he got a call from…”

“I don’t wanna know who or what it was!”

A few people from the neighbouring tables turned around to them, eying Fili curiously.

“Someone broke into your house in Manchester and they needed him to come there and tell the police if something was stolen,” Bilbo calmly explained, reassuringly touching Fili’s knee, but the boy didn’t respond.

“I hate him,” he spit out after a while.

“No you don’t,” Bilbo said, “c’mon now, we’ll take a cab home and he’ll be back for breakfast and then you can tell him that you didn’t like what he did.”

“He doesn’t ever have to come back at all.”

Bilbo let a lout a long, tired moan and got up.

Fili didn’t say much once they had arrived back home, in fact, only Kili spoke during the whole ride in the cab, trying to make his brother feel better and cheer him up. It didn’t work at all.

Bilbo had them brush their teeth and waited until they were both in their rooms, first wishing Kili a good night and then trying Fili. The light was switched off when he entered his room, Fili way under his covers facing the wall.

“You played really lovely tonight,” he said, “I’m very proud of you.” He added eventually. He knew Fili heard it, but the boy didn’t move and inch to make it know.

Walking downstairs, he didn’t see how Kili’s door opened again and the younger Durin boy quietly sneaked into Fili’s room, snuggling against him, offering some solace to his older brother.

A little bit lost and baffled by the turn of the evening he let himself fall onto the broad, grey couch. He had sat in the dark for quite a few minutes when he hears Bailey trotting towards him, putting her head on his knee soothingly and making him sleepy. He switched off the light then, removing his phone from his jacket, getting out of his shoes and tie and lied down on the couch his head comfortably resting on a soft cushion and the only sounds in the room being Bailey’s breathing and the clock on the wall.

Turning around uncomfortably, the nasty sound of his phone woke him just when he had found peace and slipped into a light sleep.

 _2:45 am_ said the display. He must have slept longer than he thought then.

“Yes,” he answered the call with a muffled voice.

“Bilbo?” the professor sounded even more tired.

“Thorin, are you alright?” He sat up immediately, his sleep-drunken head spinning a little.

“Yes, I am. Is everything fine?”

“Yes, we’re good, they boys are asleep, I’m downstairs.”

“I’m so sorry…” Bilbo could hear him sigh at the other end of the line.

“Don’t worry, please, especially not about me,” he chuckled lightly.

“I’m at some old friend of my sister’s, I can stay here until tomorrow and drive right back then, you know the boys can look after themselves, please feel free to leave whenever you want-”

“Thorin,” he stopped him right there, “it’s Saturday, I have nowhere else to be, please stop worrying and let me sleep,” a hollow laughter escaped him, he was really, really tired.

“How... how is Fili doing?”

Bilbo huffed.

“He’s a bit angry, but I’m sure you can explain it to him tomorrow when you're back.”

 

They talked for a little more than another five minutes, but Bilbo later couldn’t remember what it had been about only that he had been very tired when they had hung up and that he had instantly fallen asleep again, hoping they would clear the air in the morning once Thorin was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that was rather quick I think. First of all: I was extremely anxious to write this chapter. I had the constant feeling to ruin it all and I needed a lot of appeasing from Elli (avelinas), Gabe (durineque) and Chelsea (graceblackthrone) to get okay again. Also, I had to make some major changes. Right in the first drafts there was no piano concert but Fili's birthday. Halfway through the last chapter though I realized I didn't wanna write a whole birthdy party and I change it. I also cut out some other things that felt so clichee now and I changed some parts of the final chapters (which I am really happy with, thanks to the waitress in my favorite cafe that listend to the whole story and said she loved it, if you're reading this Martijne, heel erg bedankt!) -- THEN: First of all OH MY GOD! Look at [THIS](http://magnolie.co.vu/post/87304389400/shamingcows-i-tried-swtttt-im-really), it's so perfect! Thank you so much coww! Also so many thanks to [Aki](http://shockabsorbers.tumblr.com/), who's too shy to post what she drew :D but it looks awesome!  
> Also, please leave a comment and tell me what you think, I really love to read comments (who doesn't).   
> For more updates and pictures/inspiration follow me on [tumblr](http://magnolie.co.vu/tagged/fides-et-veritas) ;)


	11. Chapter 11

Surprisingly enough, his back did not hurt when he woke up the next morning. His college-couch-surfing-days were long over, but it was quite reassuring to know, that if the situation required it of him, he was still perfectly able to survive a night on a living room couch. Even more, he would have probably slept until past midday, but the repeated strumming of the piano woke him only shortly after ten, ending the night far too soon for Bilbo’s liking, apparently, his body was in need of a good, lazy morning in bed. A lazy morning he would be denied today, he feared.

“How did you sleep?” Bilbo asked Fili, looking for his glasses and shushing Bailey away from the couch, she was nervously walking up and down the small space between table and Bilbo’s temporary accommodation.

“You need to take her out,” was the only response he got from the piano-playing boy. He didn’t even bother turning around, but kept playing instead.  
Bailey was nudging Bilbo’s knees with her nose and the dog leash was on the ground, next to the table where she must have had dropped it, trying to wake him up earlier that morning.

“Oh,” Bilbo managed and yawned.

All of a sudden, Fili abruptly ended his play in what sounded like the midst of the piece, closing the piano lit and turning around in an instant, his hands on the chair between his knees and his feet wrapped around the legs of his chair. Much to Bilbo’s surprise, he was already dressed, combed and showered and looked much better than yesterday night, though his face was rigid and cold, angry almost, but not at him.

“Shall we go together?” Bilbo proposed, picking up the leash, “We could ask Kili too.”

“No,” Fili replied, getting up from his chair, “Let him sleep, he doesn’t like being woken that early.”

 

Snow had fallen that night. It wasn’t much, a few centimetres if at all, but it made the sleeping grass and ground glister with light. The pathway had already been cleared by what seemed to be the footsteps of joggers, dogs and at least a dozen other animals. Cold water gathered in small, dirty puddles on the light-brown path through the fields and no matter how hard Bilbo tried to avoid them, he managed to step in at least three of them until they had even reached the great, old oak tree that marked the half of Bailey’s usual morning walk.  
He tried to say something to Fili who was walking next to him, never letting Bailey out of sight, but it was hard, harder than he had thought. He knew the must have still been angry about yesterday, but for once, it really wasn’t his uncle’s fault. 

“He was really proud of you last night.” Bilbo finally tried.

“That’s why he left then.” Fili replied, letting Bailey off the leash.

The lady dog didn’t waste a second and spurred into the bushes, probably hunting a rabbit or anything of the like.

“He had a call from Manchester, someone broke into your mother’s house and they needed him there, he really didn’t want to leave.”

“But he did,” Fili stood still, looking at Bilbo furiously “he picked up his phone, when he shouldn’t have had it turned on, he left the hall when he should have listened to me, and he left us here, when he should have driven us home!”

He wasn’t yelling, but there wasn’t much missing from it. His voice was clear, loud and cold and he slammed his right index finger into the palm of his hand with every point he made. And yes, yes he was right. They were both right and that was the cruel dilemma.  
Bilbo carefully put a hand on his shoulder, but Fili freed himself from it and walked on, shouting Bailey’s name until the she dog came running from the fields, half covered in snow and dirt and he could put her on the leash again. Bilbo followed them, leaving a few steps between himself and the boy, letting him be angry for now.

When they arrived at home, Fili took a towel to dry Bailey’s feet before he let her inside. Kili, still in his pyjamas, hair all messed up from sleep, was sitting on the couch watching what seemed to be cartoons on the telly. His older brother crawled next to him under the blanket and Kili automatically snuggled into him, his eyes never turning away from the screen, but whispering something to his brother, Bilbo didn’t quite catch.

He made pancakes for them and eggs in a basket. They ate on the couch in silence, watching a talking squirrel chase a horse and make friends with him in the end. He wasn’t sure whether they were actually fond of watching it, but no one ever reached for the remote control to switch the channel and it was somewhat entertaining nevertheless. Apart from the cartoon, the house was fairly silent. No doubt, they were waiting for Thorin to return and every time Bilbo heard the faintest sound of a car from outside, he turned his head towards the door, waiting for it to open. It didn’t though and finally, the clock hit midday while the lazy sun had imbued half of the room with its yellow light.

“Kili, do you want to get dressed and we play some board games?”

Kili shook his head, yawning.

“C’mon, it will be fun, get dressed and showered and you can pick the game,” Bilbo offered.

The younger boy looked up to his brother as if he was seeking for permission, but Fili only looked back at him for a while, until Kili climbed down from the sofa and walked towards the stairs.  
“I wanna play Monopoly!” He stated, looking at Bilbo through the gaps between the stairs.

“Alright, fetch it when you’re done,” Bilbo replied with a smile and got up himself, putting the empty plates back into the kitchen. When started to prepare the dishwasher, he heard how the piano lit opened and someone, most likely Fili, started to play again while Bilbo listened from the kitchen. Just as he had this morning, Fili ended it abruptly only moments later, Bilbo had not even half filled the machine, and stormed into the kitchen.

“We’ve forgotten the metronome!” He yelled, holding on to one side of the doorframe to the kitchen.  
Dammit. Sorry. Bugger! In the heat of last night, they had forgotten to pick up that metronome from the stage where Fili had left it after playing. 

“Do you think it’s still there? You said it was worth a bit.” Bilbo asked with a frown.

“I’m so sorry Bilbo, I’m so sorry I didn’t want to forget it!” 

Bilbo had to frown. Fili’s eyes were glazing over, as if tears were forming in them.

“Okay, calm down, let’s just call them, alright? Do you know their number?”

“No, I never called them, I only know the number of the academy.”  
Well, there’s nobody going to be there on a Saturday afternoon anyway, Bilbo thought.

“Go find out the number of the Opera House, they must have it on their website,” he proposed instead, following Fili to the living room where he found a tablet-computer and quickly manoeuvred through firefox and google to open the website of the Opera House, but instead of taking the phone himself, he shyly gave it to Bilbo who quickly dialled the eight digits and waited for the free line signal.

It took a while until someone answered. In fact, Bilbo had already thought of hanging up again, when a man with a grumpy voice picked up at the other end of the line, murmuring the name of the institution and his inaudible name into the receiver.  
“Yes, hello, this is Baggins calling from Acomb. My nephew,” he summarized their quite uncommon relationship in one try, “took part in the concert last night and he left a metronome on the stage next to the grand piano.”

“And you’re telling me because...?” he chuntered.

Oh my goodness, someone in his best mood. Bilbo must have pulled a confused face because Fili’s eyes turned even more worried.  
“We just wanted to make sure it’s still there and we can maybe... fetch it?”

“I won’t go look if it’s still there for yah.”

“Could we come then and have a look?”  
There was a long silence at the other end. The man seemed to be looking at something, maybe his mobile, the computer or the clock, Bilbo could only guess. When a loud, disgruntled moan, that even Fili had heard, came from the other end, Bilbo got up and walked to the windows.

“We wouldn’t disturb you for long, sir, we just need to see the stage and check whether it is still there.”

Another moan and then silence.  
“If you wanna fetch it you gotta come now, cause I’ll be locking up the place at two, and I haven’t been at the stage yet to see it and I won’t go there just for you.”

“We’ll be on our way right now!”  
The man murmured something like ‘whatever you think’ into the phone before Bilbo hung up and turned around to Fili.

“We can go there, but we need to go now.”

“Ima get Kili!” the boy jumped off the couch raising upstairs yelling his brother’s name.

Bilbo went to the small guest-bathroom only to have a look at his general appearance (inadequate) before he took his jacket (rumpled) from the rack, waiting for the boys next to the door and looking for his keys. His car was still parked outside, it would be one at least before they would arrive at the opera. _Where were the door keys? He had to remember the keys, otherwise they would lock themselves out, and his phone! His phone! He ran back into the living room, finding his mobile on the couch table, thank God! He wasn’t fit for this kind of stress. He really wasn’t._

“Boys?” He asked, his heart calming a little.  
A double “Almost done!” resounded from above, followed by loud clatter on the stairs when first Kili and then his older brother ran down, almost falling over their own feet.

“Go get your shoes and jackets, it’s cold outside!” He told them.

“What about Bailey?” Fili asked while lacing his shoes next to the family dog.

“Do we need to take her? She stayed alone last night, didn’t she?”

“But she doesn’t like it...” Kili remarked.

Bilbo gave the she-dog with the large puppy eyes a long look before he sighed in approval, taking up the leash from the morning and fixing it on Bailey’s collar.  
For a Saturday afternoon, the city was surprisingly busy even though Bilbo took a supposably calmer route to the Opera House, driving around the inner city and most of the big streets. Next to him, Fili kept a close watch of the clock, biting his lips every time they got stuck in traffic or had to drive more slowly. That way they only arrived at their destination at about twenty minutes to two and Bilbo sent out the boys before he went hunting for a parking lot with Bailey.

 

“No one’s opening the door!” Kili cried when Bilbo and Bailey finally arrived at the main entrance. Of course there was no bell or any of the kind, but Fili kept slamming the palms of his hands against the door angrily until Bilbo caught his hood and stopped him.

“He’s not gonna open the door if you keep doing that, even if he hears you,” he tried to calm him down.

“But he said he would open up!” Fili yelled and ‘knocked’ on the door one more time.

“Will you stop that,” Bilbo took him away one more time, “would you open the door to someone who does that?”  
Fili let out a long huff and crossed his arms, looking at the street.

 _Much easier to be angry than conscious-stricken, wasn’t it?_ Bilbo sighed again and looked up the building, searching for a security camera, but if there was one, he wasn’t able to find it.  
“Let’s have a look at the other side of the building, there’s always an entrance for the employees,” he proposed encouragingly, handing Bailey’s leash over to the blonde rebel, who took it reluctantly before he started walking towards the corner of the building, looking for a door.

Eventually, they didn’t find a door, but an open window that belonged to an office, the office of the opera’s ill-humoured porter (or janitor, who cared, really?).

“You’ll leave the dog outside,” he demanded when he finally (!) opened the door for them, eyeing Fili and the leash deprecatingly. 

“I can’t leave her here,” Bilbo tried and the glare he earned told him that either one of them would stay out here with Bailey, or they would all have to leave again.

“Just get the metronome, nothing else, no excursions, no trouble,” he looked at both boys, “are we understood?”

“Are you not coming?” Kili asked, halfway in already and apparently far away enough to having overheard Bilbo’s argument with the porter.

“I’ll stay here with Bailey, stick with your brother!”  
He didn’t get to see much more than that when the porter closed the door behind Fili and Bilbo hoped he would get them back soon, he would be a dead man if he didn’t bring them home again. 

However, he was thankful for the few minutes of peace he was about to get and sat down on a stone bench right in front of the opera house. He would have loved to let Bailey off the leash and have her run around a little, but there were too many cars on the streets and no matter how well she was trained and he had gotten to know her, he was afraid she would not return once she was out of his eyesight and there would only be one thing worse than explaining to Thorin that he had lost the boys, and that was explaining to Thorin how he had both lost the boys and his dog.

So instead of letting Bailey off the leash, he patted her head until she rested it on his right leg, like she had done so many times before and closing her eyes.  
Was this what ordinary family life looked like? A Golden Retriever sleeping in your lap? One of the children forgetting some expensive trinket somewhere and waiting for someone to come home? Early morning dog walks and late breakfasts? Lazy sun streams on the streets. Thinking about it like this, life sounded like a James Blunt song. Love always, tenderly, entangling itself with the melody of Yorkshire as weekend-trips would take you outside the city for a hike or maybe a horse ride (not that Bilbo could ride a horse, but he had always wanted learn it...) and waking someone up late at night from the couch only to take him upstairs and sleep next to them until the next morning.  
A smile appeared on his lips and he heard the bell of a distant church announce quarter to two. Bilbo closed his eyes then, resting, listening to the sounds on the street behind him. It only lasted a few moments until it was all destroyed again and his phone rang in his left pocket and played the Element Song, a tune he had chosen for Thorin a few weeks ago and that was annoying enough to ensure he would pick up his mobile just to end it.

“Y-yes?” he answered his phone.

“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”

Bilbo blushed. Oh bugger. He didn’t sound all too good.

“Oh now, what happened?”

“It’s a long story, one I’d rather not hear again...” he added a long moan at the end and Bilbo could almost see how he massaged his forehead with his right hand.

“I’m sorry,” was all he was able to say, “I am really sorry.”

“It’s not that it’s your fault,” Thorin answered with a hollow laugh, “are the boys alright... and you of course?”

“We’re fine, we’re in the city and ...” oh darn, firstly, telling Thorin that Fili had forgotten something at the opera was probably not smart, but telling him that he had let the boys go look for it alone (accompanied by an angry stranger) was simply stupid, “...and just looking for a nice place to have lunch,” he lied. No matter if Thorin would be sorry for Fili forgetting Bilbo’s gift or be angry instead, there was no reason to tell him. Who knew, maybe he could exchange his silence against a more propitiated mood with Fili and cover the current shortage of domestic bliss.

“You really don’t need to do that, we still have spaghetti and fries at home, or did they tell you otherwise?”

“Oh no, we just thought it might be nice to get out of the house a little, don’t worry.”  
A long silence followed at the other end of the line.

“I really don’t know how to thank you.”

Bilbo chuckled,“you could tell me when you will be back home so I can make sure we’re back then too.”

“I hope I’ll be back in York at around five, is that alright?”

“It’s perfectly fine, don’t worry, we’re all good and entertained and waiting for you.”

It seemed as if at first, Thorin wasn’t actually sure whether to trust him entirely, but eventually, he must have come to the realization, that he really had no other chance.

“Thank you.”

“Drive carefully.”  
A small ‘mhmh’ and ‘see you then’ was all Bilbo heard before he hung up, packing his phone away again and looking at the main entrance, where the boys came walking through the door, no sight of the porter behind or in front of them.

“Did you find it?” he asked.

“It was still next to the piano!” Kili yelled and Fili carefully held his metronome in both his hands, a small, but optimistic and apologetic smile on his lips.

“Lucky you,” he teased him a little and gave Bailey’s leash to Kili, “what about some lunch then? We can leave the metronome in the car and walk a bit with Bailey.”

“Don’t we have to go home and wait for Thorin?” Fili asked sceptically.

“He just called me and said he won’t be home before five, so we’ve got plenty of time for some food and a stroll.”

Kili happily let his shoulders fall and nodded, and although his younger brother’s good mood and the fact that Bilbo had just driven them through the whole city seemed to be the prime reasons for his approval, even Fili gave him a short, interested nod before they stored the metronome away in Bilbo’s trunk.

I was only a short walk into the inner city and the streets with most of the restaurants and the cafes. Bailey was a good dog and stayed by their side always, never dragging Kili anywhere off the street. It was still cold and windy, most people wore scarves and thick, winter coats. The sun only warmed up the places it touched and whenever they walked in the shadow of the houses, the chill crept underneath their clothes. Bailey seemed to be the only one perfectly enjoying the weather, with two layers of extra fur, Bilbo and the boys would probably have too.

The choice of the restaurant appeared to be more difficult though. Whenever Kili found something he liked (or would eat without objecting) on the menu outside a restaurant, his brother would vociferously object because of various reasons and walk on.  
It was nice all the same. He liked having them around, especially after Fili’s mood had lightened a little. He would take him aside as soon as Kili’s attention was drawn to something else (which wouldn’t take too long anyway) and suggest that a reconciliation with his uncle would save all of them much trouble.  
At last they found a suitable restaurant on one of the busier streets. It was too cold to sit outside, even though they had put up radiant heaters and some people were actually sitting underneath them, but Bilbo directly shushed them inside where they found an empty table right next to the windows. 

It took a while until they were ready to order. Apparently lunching at a restaurant wasn’t one of Kili’s strong suits, it took the boy a whopping twenty minutes to chose between lemonade and grape juice and another fifteen to decide that he would have a hamburger with fries. As soon as the waitress was gone again, Fili started teasing him about it and gave Bilbo a chance to watch the brothers bicker.

“Can we go to the Minster later?” Kili asked when Fili let him go for a second.

“I don’t think we’ll have time for that,” Bilbo muttered, looking at his watch.

“But we’ve never been there,” Kili whinged.

“You’ve never been at the Minster?” Bilbo’s voice was higher with surprise that he had anticipated and Fili gave him an amused grin.

“We never really had the time to,” he answered for his younger brother, taking a sip from his Sprite.

“Well, today we won’t have time for that, but maybe next weekend, if your uncle doesn’t have any other plans with you then...” 

At the mere reference to his uncle, Fili rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. Irritated, he crossed his arms and leant back, a gesture that went unnoticed from Kili, but Bilbo let out a silent sigh when the younger boy kept on trying to persuade him. Fili’s mood didn’t lighten, not even when his pasta arrived at the table. He said thank you to the waitress and reassured Bilbo that he liked it very much, but stayed silent for the rest. Bilbo only had a chance to talk to him, when after the lunch, Kili got bored by his brother’s annoyance and asked to go out to look at the bookstore on the other side of the street.

“You know, I already told you it wasn’t his fault.” Bilbo quietly remarked when he watched Kili from behind the windows carefully crossing the street.

“There is always something more important than us,” Fili retorted, looking onto the last noodles on his plate.

“I’m not defending him or saying storming out of your concert was okay, but it didn’t want to,” Bilbo lowered his head, trying to catch Fili’s eyes. When he succeeded the boy looked up to him.

“You should have seen him, he was so proud of you,” he whispered and he was sure his smile could be heard in the way he talked.

“Why did he leave then?” Fili asked, his voice a little louder now.

“We told you that,” Bilbo felt how his heart skipped a beat at the word we, “someone broke into your mom’s old house in Manchester and they asked him to come and see if anything was stolen or wrong.”

“He could have gone the next morning.”

“Yes he could, probably, I don’t know. But Fili,” he made a break and looked out of the window where Kili was examining the books in the window of the shop. Some guests entered, a dog barked and Bailey rose a little, sniffling. In another corner of the restaurant he heard someone laugh hollowly. “You two are not the only ones who’re grieving your mom. You might think you are, but while you lost your mother, your uncle lost his sister after his parents and his little brother. How would you feel if after all this,” he looked outside again, “Kili would be gone too?”

Fili never responded. He followed Bilbo’s glare out of the window, where his brother still stood and looked at something in the shop window, nervously wiggling from one leg to the other and holding on to the glass window with his probably still greasy hamburger fingers.

“I’d die too. I’d just never wake up again after going to bed one night,” Fili was looking down at the table, fumbling with the clean desert-fork he hadn’t used.

“There you go. I can’t imagine how hard this must me for the two of you,” Bilbo lied, “but it’s hard for your uncle too.”

Fili still intently stared at his fork until finally he looked up to Bilbo with eyes that did not exactly show guilt, but something one might identify as comprehension.  
“So, if you want to thank me for that metronome, try to forgive him, or at least be a little less angry at him when he comes home today,” he suggested then, having another sip from his soda water and never letting the older brother out of sight. Fili lowered his tensed shoulders and left the fork alone on the table before a long, heavy breath escaped him and he took in a new one with a painful groan. 

“I guess I can try,” he offered to Bilbo.

“Thank you,” he answered, “I’m proud of you.” He added, carefully squeezing Fili’s right hand on the table and the boy awarded him with a small, but genuine smile. For just a moment, Bilbo allowed himself to breath out and let some of the weight go. Just as if their small conversation was capable of eradicating all of their problems and issues.  
It was Kili who brought him back to reality. He had let him out of sight towards the end of their discussion, but when the younger boy appeared next to their table again he didn’t even think of worrying.

“Did they have some good books?” Bilbo asked him when he climbed back onto his chair.

“Some really good ones!” he exclaimed, putting something on the table that didn’t directly catch Bilbo’s eye, but eventually did and puzzled him.

“Kili, where did you get that?”

Almost in the middle of their table, on top of one of the pink cloth napkins, Kili had put a small, glass cube about the size of the palm of his hand.  
Inside, frozen in time and scarred by death, was a black butterfly with red dots on each wing. It looked utterly peculiar and Bilbo felt as if the sounds around him were distorted. Something about this thing made him feel uncomfortable. Those red spots stared at him like gruesome, evil eyes flooded by bloody tears and grief. 

“It’s super cool isn’t it?” Kili took it in his hands as if it was just a toy.

“Did you buy it at the shop?” Bilbo asked.

“No, no, there was a man outside the store and he asked if I knew what the name of Captain Nemo’s ship was,” he looked over to Fili enthusiastically, “you read that story to me, remember? You had read that book in the library and read it to me later, it’s Nautilus, the boat is called Nautilus!” Kili proudly explained.

“And then he gave you the cube?”

“Yes!” Kili smiled, “He said it was his favourite book and he was very happy that younger people still read it today.”

“Was he from the bookstore?” Fili wanted to know.

“No I don’t think so...” Kili shook his head, “he walked down towards the Minster right away.”

“Did he ask anything else of you?” Bilbo chased the matter up again.

“No, no he just said it was a treasure and I should keep it safe,” he marvelled at his new toy. 

Bilbo took a long while to look at it again. The uncomfortable feeling never left him and something wasn’t entirely kosher about this, he could feel that. Still, nothing had happened and Kili was in good spirits, so what was there to say? Maybe it had been one of the people from the bookstore that had just finished work and the glass cube was a freebee he was just unable to identify. He was much too concerned he concluded.

“Don’t break it then,” he added eventually, waiving at the waitress to indicate that they were ready to pay now. However, the little butterfly in the glass cube never really let him off the leash. Neither during their drive home, nor when they finally put up the monopoly board on the living room table back at home. Kili had put it on the chimney piece and forgotten about it as soon as he and Fili had started fighting over the little cabriolet playing piece, but Bilbo’s glance fell on it ever now and then.

Who gave away freebees like that? And who asked young boys weird questions without molesting or abducting them? He would tell Thorin, he told himself, then they could have a conversation about talking to strange(r) people and he would spare himself of that. His train of through was violently interrupted when the boys started fighting over a street Fili wanted to buy, and somehow, as stubbornly as it had bothered his before, it now slipped his mind entirely.

The afternoon passed by all too quickly and in the end, not really fast enough anyway. It started raining twice outside, any every time it stopped again after only a few minutes of deluge. He hoped he would be safe. He rarely drove when it rained that hard outside. He had never trusted himself enough for that and he didn’t want to imagine what driving on the highway really meant in this weather. 

Bilbo only relaxed when, just after Fili had bought Mayfair, he heard the door lock click and heavy steps slowly walking inside.

“Hello?” Thorin’s familiar, dark voice asked into the emptiness. With the darkening of the sky, they had lighted the chimney and the sizzling fire was now, that the sky was pitch black, the only source of light in the house. From outside, it must have looked lonely and abandoned.

Kili didn’t answer, but jumped up right away running to the door, passing the kitchen and the long floor quickly.  
“Let me take of my shoes first,” Bilbo heard the professor say, a smile in his voice.

His glance fell on Fili, who was carefully reading the description of Mayfair on the card he had just gotten, head down and eyes hid behind his blonde curls. From where Bilbo sat, he easily turned around to look at the floor and the kitchen door where now, in his dark coat and with tousled hair, the paterfamilias held Kili’s hand and looked more tired than ever.

“I hope they behaved,” was the first thing he said to Bilbo, just as always scratching the back of his head.

“Give me that coat and warm up a little,” Bilbo offered and got up, leaving the armchair to Thorin.

“I really don’t want to bother you any longer, we’ve really been preying on you long enough,” he lifted both of his hands, letting go of Kili and giving Bilbo a very apologetic look, but Bilbo only outstretched his arm, awaiting the coat so he could put it into the cellar to get dry again. Thorin only reluctantly and with great protest (especially in his eyes) peeled himself out of the wet coat and sat down between the fireplace and Fili. The older boy looked up to Bilbo and received a small nod, accompanied by a wink of his eye before he turned away and walked down the few steps behind the door in the hallway. He put the dryer on easy and 30°C to be safe and took down one of the pullovers that looked big enough to be Thorin’s from the clothesline. It was soft and long and dark blue. He didn’t want to dwell on it, but he automatically did. Bilbo wondered what kind of fabric it was, expensive, probably, but definitely worth whatever it must have cost. He would have to go soon and leave them here and he was sure he understood that the last two days did not especially qualify as ‘normality’... but he wasn’t ready yet to let go, so he held on to the pullover, listened to the dryer and took in the smell of their washing powder.

 _Just a little longer,_ he told himself, _just a little bit and I can let go._  
Though... would he ever? He wasn’t sure.

In the end, he only went back up the stairs because everything else would have been suspicious, and later he wished he had shown himself a little earlier for his absence had not gone unnoticed. Normal people asked after opening a door, usually yelling the name of whatever person they were looking for. Thorin Durin didn’t. Thorin Durin just silently stepped down a few stairs, giving Bilbo the chance to turn around one more time while he was walking up the same set of stairs, overseeing him and running right into him.  
He would later not believe what sound he had made, squealing like a mouse and holding on to Thorin’s wet shirt so he wouldn’t stumble all the way back down again.

“Don’t scare me light that!” he shrieked and felt both of the professor’s large hands on each of his arms.

“I’m _so_ sorry!” he quickly apologized, “I just wanted to check up on you.”

Bilbo looked up.  
Maybe he should kiss him right now and be done with it, forget about it and move on. Look for a new job, go to the place farthest from here, South Africa sounded nice now that he thought about it, and never fall in love again. He could actually just do that, could he?  
But Thorin let go of him all too soon after making sure Bilbo stood with both feet securely on the ground. He cleared his throat, looked down and then back up to Bilbo again.

“Everything alright?”

“Y-yes, sure, I was just,” Bilbo lost himself for a moment, “I was just making sure this one was dry enough.” He handed the pullover over to the professor and nodded, “your coat is in the dryer.”

“Thank you,” he carefully took it from him and their hands touched for the mere fraction of a second.

“No trouble at all,” Bilbo bestowed him with a smile.

“No, really, thank you.”  
As silence seemed to take up the better of them, Bilbo nodded weakly and leaned back a little, so standing close would lose some of its awkwardness, although it didn’t.

 _Wasn’t this brilliant_ , he thought later when he walked outside to drive home, the three Durins behind him on the doorstep, telling him to drive carefully and wishing him a nice rest of the weekend.

He waved to them one more time when he had already started the car, looked to Kili first and Fili and then to Thorin, who had both hands in the pockets of his jeans and wore that dark blue pullover Bilbo had decided he liked so much.

_Wasn’t this brilliant._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took so long. I was super busy and still am. My life is just awesome and awful all the same right now since i will be moving to York in Septemer and need to roganize A LOT. I'm dying a little. The next chapter will hopefully be up sooner and I just wanted to let you know that you are awesome and that I love this story and I will never leave it unfisnished because it's gotten all of my heart!  
> Please also check out this wonderful art by shock: http://magnolie.co.vu/post/90788194955/shockabsorbers-kili-and-bilbo-based-on-a-scene omg I'm so happy you drew this, I love you so much!


	12. Chapter 12

 

_This chapter is especially dedicated to my best friend, my little brother who inspired Thorin just so very much._

 

 

As he stormed out of the building, the night was dark and freezing with invisible ice. His breath condensed in the cold winter air. They parted before him, sad, white billows of the air he breathed out, as he ran to his car, the Opera House at his back. The cold air made him shudder has he opened the car and sat down in the driver’s seat. It took him a moment to adjust: _Manchester. Dis. Robbery._  
He should have never answered that call. He had never heard Fili play this well, with that much enthusiasm and passion. It would have been his greatest pleasure to just sit there for the rest of the evening and listen to him and later try tell him how proud he was, perhaps... no, _of course_ with Bilbo’s help.

As he started the engine and exited the car park, he knew what would await him when he arrived back home. A disappointed Bilbo, an undiscerning Kili and a very angry Fili. Only Bailey would forgive him, probably. He was one hell of an awful uncle, they should have never given him the guardianship.

His heart was heavy when he thought of his boys, but it got even heavier when he thought of whatever had happened at Desiree’s old house. The inspector hadn’t said much, he had been on the road too. Apparently someone had read his name on the head of a letter he had left there last summer when he had cleaned up a little and used some free time to go through old pictures and watch some old videos he had not taken to York yet. They must have made a connection to the rampage at the school, because they had called Inspector Archer directly. Apparently they were convinced that this wasn’t the coincidence that it was. There hadn’t been any new leads in weeks and rampages at schools were ungrateful open cases, they were probably clutching at any straw they could get. He and Archer had met up in a cafe a few days before New Year’s. He hadn’t been allowed to tell him anything, but he had explained that they weren’t giving up on it, but that the chances to catch the intruder were minimizing.

And now? Did they really contemplate a connection? Had someone broken into his house in York it might have been a considerable thought, but there were only a handful of people that knew _he_ owned the house in the Kingsley Lane, not because he had kept it a secret, no, the topic had just never really come up, and now that he thought about it, the house was the perfect object for burglary: It stood empty, disconnected from the other houses in the street and there were no signs that it was inhabited at all. If someone had driven through the neighbourhood a few times to look out for a fitting object to break in to, Desiree’s house would have been the one to go for. There was no dog, no burglar alarm, and no extra security. He had always had it on his mind to have another lock installed, but after the year had started again and after the rampage, it must have slipped him somehow.

Now, that the dark road lay before him, he wished he’d found the time somewhere in the past months. He could have been sitting with the boys now, maybe have some late night pizza on their couch in front of the fireplace, Bilbo sitting next to him with his optimistic smile, making the world a whole lot better. Instead, he was in his car, ten miles outside of York already, weary and tired.

 

A few of Dis’ necklaces and rings were missing. Nothing but costume jewellery and trinkets, he had taken all of her real jewels to York. They were inside a safe deposit box at the bank and once Kili would turn eighteen, the boys would get to decide what to do with them. He had only kept her claddagh ring, a small gold ring with a crimson inside the heart she had bought for herself in Ireland when she had been seventeen and worn every day and night. It rested in the upper drawer of his bedside table, next to an old picture of him, Dis and Frerin only month before his little brother had fallen sick, she had forgotten it on her bedside table the day she had died.

“Was there any cash deposited anywhere in the house?”

Inspector Archer was leaning against one of the walls of Desiree’s bedroom while Thorin was carefully going through the opened drawers. They had left a mess in the room and Archer had asked him to wear gloves. It would take days to clean it all up again and Thorin wasn’t sure if he’d live through it.

“No, I took all the valuables to York when she left us,” He sighed and looked at his watch; it was already going on one.

“What about papers, a driver’s license, maybe a passport?”

“No, we had them all devalued so the boys could keep them.”

The Inspector fell silent for a while and seemed to be examining the pictures on the wall next to her bed, while Thorin tried to remember if there had been anything else in the house someone might be interested in.

“You sister was a chemist?”

“She taught at the University of Manchester, but in the years before she passed she was doing research on alternatives to fossil fuels.”

All he received from the Inspector was a confused look.

“Solar cell development, in your words,” Thorin tried with a weak smile, “my sister was trying to find a way to produce solar cells without the usage of conflicted minerals while still maximizing their output, but it...”

“Wait, wait, she did what?” The Inspector was furrowing his brow while trying to take down everything he had heard. Thorin sighed and took in a deep breath.

“The solar cells we get on the rooftops only use a small part of the sunlight that reaches them while making those solar cells, we still use conflicted minerals, minerals that are mined in Africa under very poor conditions. Desiree wanted to improve solar cells in a way so they could produce more green energy, while they would not necessarily need those minerals and could be produced more efficiently.”

“And she succeeded?”

Thorin let out an ironic laughter and turned towards the window before he walked to her nightstand.

“No, of course not, that’s impossible. And even if she had,” he paused and looked at the Inspector, “and she hadn’t,” he looked back into the drawer, “she couldn’t have told anybody about it.”

Inspector Archer was nodding.

“Whom was she doing research for?”

“The University paid for most of it, but there were several people involved, Cambridge had its share and the University of Utrecht in the Netherlands and I think she talked about Stanford as well and Beijing and Bern. There were at least eight other chemists and physicists in her team, if not more.”

“But nobody knew about it?”

“Sure people knew about it, had they been able to find a way to manufacture those solar cells, hundredths of companies would have wanted to get the rights to produce them, professional journals would have wanted to publish their work and Universities would have wanted the researchers to teach at their institutes and the list goes on and on. That plane she died in was supposed to take her to Bern to consult with some other chemist.”

Thorin sat down on the bed, looking at his phone. He would have to call Bilbo that he was not making it home that night.

“Is it possible that she took some of her work home then and had it here?”

“No she wouldn’t have been allowed to do that, but we can have a look at it of course.”

Thorin led him into his sister’s old study. It was a small room, not bigger than maybe 10m² with bookshelves to each side and a small desk at the end of it, in front of a large, white window overlooking the garden. Piles of paper were stashed on the table and the floor. If someone had been in this room, Thorin wouldn’t have been able to tell, it had always been the most chaotic place in the house.

“That’s not English...” Archer mumbled when he picked up one of the sheets.

“She took her notes in German sometimes, or Spanish...”

The Inspector nodded with respect and placed the sheet back on the floor.

“Is there anything missing here?”

“I couldn’t even tell you whether someone ever entered this room, it was in a similar state last time I saw it...” another sigh escaped his lips.

“Alright... well if you’re sure that there was nothing valuable in here...”

“No, this is all private stuff and notes for teaching.”

“Of course,” the Inspector nodded and took out his blinking phone, raising a finger to excuse himself.

Thorin used the sudden loneliness to look at his sister’s old books. The room was a mess, he needed to collect all the sheets of paper and the notebooks and take them to the University. If they didn’t want them they could still throw them away themselves. He wouldn’t have the heart for it.

He had always thought that the boys should, once they had grown up, decide what they wanted to do with the house. Thorin doubted that they wanted to live in it again, but it was theirs and they didn’t depend on the money, so he hadn’t sold it right away.

“That was the Inspector that’s taking the case, he’s downstairs and would like to speak with you.”

“Is it about the school again? Because I don’t think...”

“Just let them do their work and ask their questions,” Inspector Archer asked him with a friendly smile and put his glasses back on his nose.

“Of course,” Thorin moaned morosely and followed him downstairs.

“How is Mister Baggins doing by the way, he seemed a little troubled last time I talked to him?” Archers asked him on the stairs.

“He’s quite fine I guess... he’s actually looking after the boys tonight.”

“Oh really?” Archer turned around.

“My oldest nephew invited him to his concert and he took them home after you called me.”

“Well, at least they’re not alone now,” Archer smiled before he approached the Inspector from Manchester and introduced Thorin to him.

 

It was already long past two when Thorin rang the doorbell of Paul and Elise Emmery, an old couple that lived at the other end of the street and had looked after his nephews when Dis had to work late or needed an evening to herself. He had a bad conscious to disturb them this late, but they had called the police when they had walked by the house and seen the garden door open.

It took a while until Paul Emmery opened the door in his dressing gown, sleep in his eyes and surprise in his face.

“Thorin, good lord you’re here.”

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he apologised.

“No worries, you look awful, come in or you’ll freeze to death!”

He called Bilbo from the guest room. Elise had readied the bed there for him. Pale moonlight fell through the window onto the old fashioned desk and the carpeted floor. When he hung up and lied down onto the soft sheets, he suddenly wished he was with him, next to him so Bilbo could tell him with his soft voice that it would be alright, that everything would be alright. He fell asleep with that thought and slept a dreamless sleep.

 

The coming weeks and days passed him by as if they were nothing but fog. January ended, February began and there was no more snow. As short rainstorms haunted the days and nights, life carried on in the halls and rooms that now sometimes looked strange to him, as if Erebor was a whole different place. He drove the boys to piano lessons and therapy. He went swimming with them and listened to Fili when he played in the evenings when Kili was reading on the floor or asleep on the couch right next to him. He had spent much time in his office at Erebor. It had been months since the rampage, but worried parents still asked for appointments with him, took their children off the school, moved away or asked for more measures of protection. They had lost about twenty-five students, but at least twice that number had applied to the newly available spots. He sometimes wondered what parents would send their children to a school at which a rampage had taken place, even if it was Erebor.

The BBC had also contacted him. They were doing a special, a documentary about rampages at British schools and asked whether he, some students or teachers would be available for interviews and if they were allowed to film at the school. He had negated of course, kindly, but there was no chance he would have cameras here, they had managed to keep them out in the fall, hundredths of reports had then flooded the news, most of them showing the gate, police cars or crying students leaving the school grounds. Only had few had managed to shoot material on school grounds, but he suspected that these pictures had been taken earlier, because they only showed the school buildings and the lawns, but not the scenes of that day that still haunted him.

At the end of each day he was tired of it all. James kept asking him about the therapy and whether he wanted to go out with his wife’s sister Terry, who lived in Australia and ‘would make his life so much better’, but the truth was that the only person that ‘would make his life so much better’ was the golden haired teacher that brought him his lunch when he couldn’t make it to the staffroom and sometimes left pumpkin buns at his office door. They went out to have dinner with Bilbo maybe twice and once he came over to look after them. Thorin never told him why, but Bilbo had known why he wanted to stay at school longer without the boys. His favourite memory, however, sat on the chimneypiece. It was a small, black and white picture of Bilbo and the boys at the beach in St Andrews.

In his mind, _Sand in my Shoes_ still played as the background music to every memory he had of that day. It had been a cold afternoon, but not a drop of rain had ruined it. They had sat by the shores at the long beach, Bilbo had read to the boys and they had plodged through the small, cold waves and gotten all wet and tired. In the early evening, Kili had secretly taken a small picture of Fili sitting between Thorin’s legs, reading or writing, he couldn’t remember anymore, and Bilbo sitting next to them, looking at the book in Fili’s hands. On the drive home, the boys had both slept on the backseat while Bilbo and he had silently talked and listened to the Dido CD that was stuck in the CD-Player of Bilbo’s car.

Thorin had put that memory in a frame to remember himself how blessed and content he had been that day, and that he didn’t deserve all the kindness and love that was given to him. On some stressful days, he wanted nothing more than to go back to that cold beach. Something had changed the day he had come back from Manchester, something that had been written down on paper somewhere inside him, but never printed out, maybe because he had been much too afraid to think about it, or maybe because he was an idiot that had last fallen in love before college.

His hands, eyes and nose still very vividly remembered the moment, the very second Bilbo had stumbled up the stairs and fallen right into his arms. He had been so short. His head ended were his own begun, they had fitted just perfectly with his small hands on his arms, as if ... as if every moment in his life until now had happened so they could stand there in his cellar, holding on to each other.

He caught himself looking forward to seeing him whenever he wasn’t there, and he was constantly trying to prolong every instant they met. He wasn’t stupid, he understood very well that he was madly (well – madly in his very special way) in love with the small German and Latin teacher, his cardigans and blonde curls and his soft voice, but he also understood that he was heading the board of a Christian school and that Mister Baggins - while not being the prime example of a hetero sexual male - was very surely neither gay or in love with him.

He thought about that a lot. In lonely nights he sat in front of the fire place while Eva Cassidy consoled him with her deep voice and low tunes. The boys were fast asleep then and even Bailey had difficulties to keep her eyes open. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to enjoy the butterflies in his belly and dive into the warm feeling of imagining what could be and might be and never would or whether it was time to open that 42-year-old Black Bowmore Scotch he had originally wanted to open with Dis once she had completed her research and start drinking.

He fell asleep, thinking of him and woke up in the mornings imagining he was lying next to him. Sometimes, after waking up, he stayed in bed, not turning around and pretending he was there, asleep right behind him. Bilbo never was of course and the sudden melancholia often made him remember their day in St Andrews, how they had sat next to each other and watched the boys jumping and running in the shores.

He had no idea how he managed to stay the same, outwardly, how he was able to mask every feeling and dash of melancholia out. Kili had no idea, not the slightest. Neither did James (or any of his other colleagues) no matter how often he made fun of him living as a celibate. Thorin just wasn’t sure about Fili. His eldest nephew knew that he was spending his evenings on their couch in front of the fireplace, listening to soft music, he saw the sad expression in his features even when nobody else did, he wasn’t that easy to fool.

And Fili also didn’t miss the happiness in his voice when Bilbo called one sunny, cold afternoon and asked if he wanted to meet him in the park. He said he wanted to see Bailey again and was going into the city anyway. Bilbo lived close to the city walls, Thorin knew that by now even though he had never seen his house or the inside of his flat.

“I’ll wait by the rose garden,” he smiled when Bilbo asked him where to meet.

Fili looked up from his notebook, he was writing again, sceptically.

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Just out with Bailey.”

“Meeting Mister Baggins?”

“Just for a walk.”

Fili gave him a strange look, but never said anything. Instead he looked back into his little notebook and didn’t pay any more attention to his uncle. He wasn’t sure exactly how much Fili knew, but he decided to leave it alone and concentrate on finding his favourite, blue coat in the wardrobe and fitting shoes and Bailey’s leash.

He told his nephews he would be back soon and bring cake for tea. Kili asked if he could come, but one glance at his math exercises was enough to tell him that he needed to spend the afternoon with fractions instead of coming along to the city.

Fili’s leery face bothered him all his way to the park, while Bailey nervously turned and turned around in the back of the car. The sky had been all blue and light until he had left the house, but now it was greying above him. He hoped it wouldn’t rain again. While driving, he thought of swamped lawns, the dark rocks of the old ruins and the beautiful pavilion in the middle of the park and dripping trees. He thought of Bilbo in a soaked jacket, still smiling like he always did and suddenly it all seemed to him like a déjà-vu or a dream he had once dreamt and forgotten after waking up.

He parked at the end of Royce St and let Bailey out first. There were no roses left in the rose garden, but Bilbo was there, wearing a dark, woollen coat and a plaided shirt underneath. He was looking at the long withered rose buds and his face was filled with placidity and meekness Bailey ran towards him right away, barking and jumping around the teacher enthusiastically. Thorin watched him as he bent down and petted her head and ears while Bailey tried to jump up, happily waving her tail.

“She only gets that excited around you,” Thorin silently chuckled when he put her on the leash.

“Oh no, she’s just a cheerful nature,” Bilbo countered and smiled, playing with the she-dog.

Thorin gave him the leash and observed how their hands touched for the fracture of a second and how Bilbo’s eyes were still fixed on Bailey, but looked up to him when they left the rose garden through the small gate and bestowed him with a gentle smile.

“How are the boys?” He asked.

“Fine, at least they were when I left them,” Thorin answered, hands behind his back, walking closely to Bilbo.

“Does Kili still have that butterfly?”

Thorin wrinkled his forehead and looked down to the smaller man with question in his eyes.

“Butterfly?”

“Yes, that little butterfly in the glass he got the day after the concert.”

Something seemed to trouble Bilbo about it, but he couldn’t tell what. He had only seen the little thing once or twice, it stood, long forgotten of course, on the chimneypiece, next to the picture from the beach – Kili had never touched it again.

“Oh yes, I doubt he still knows he's got it though,” he explained out loud, but Bilbo’s only reaction was a nod and a dip of his head.

“Is there anything wrong with it?”

“Oh no, no, I was just wondering whether he’d kept it,” Bilbo smiled and looked up to him again, but there still was something odd about it. He never got the chance to dig any deeper, because Bilbo went on and asked him about his students, how they were preparing for their finals and whether they were taking part in another nationwide competition.

They also talked about the rampage, and he came to know that Bilbo only entitled that morning ‘the worst day’ and that he still sometimes jumped when he heard loud noises that sounded like shooting. Thorin didn’t tell him about his own worries. There would be an assembly of the parent-teacher-association in a while. Inspectors Archer would come and he hoped it would finally provide at least some closure for the parents and students, even though they had never caught the man.

He had spent endless hours at his office and told Bilbo about the psychologist that would visit the school again around the end of the month and sooner than he thought he was no longer casually talking, but more or less bearing his heart to Bilbo, who mindfully listened to him and touched his arm and shoulder now and then, cordially offering support.

“Thank you,” he quietly said after he had finished.

“For what?” Bilbo smiled kindly.

“Listening, maybe, and the boys, in general I mean. You keep making... things easier,” he stopped, hands in his pockets, cautiously smiling at the blonde man. It was harder than it sounded, but getting easier with every time he tried. He couldn’t believe he had still pushed him away a few months ago, and now he wondered whether he had – the first instant he had seen him – fallen in love and just been too terrified to admit it to himself until a while ago. It frightened him. It frightened him more than anything else.

Bilbo was just about to reply something – his cheeks had turned a little red – when he looked up into the sky and silently opened his hands. Only half a moment later, cold, fresh rain started pouring down on them and Bailey began to bark.

Together they ran towards the closest thing that promised some dryness, the pavilion in the middle of the lawn, by the small lake. Bilbo panted when they arrived and laughed as he saw how Bailey was still dancing around in the rain.

“The hell of a weather...”

“I sometimes play with the thought of moving to Rome, or Tuscany just to get away from the rain,” Bilbo laughed and snuffled.

“I’m in,” Thorin agreed and sat down on the ground, leaning against the walls of the ancient pavilion and Bilbo sank into the spot next to him. He was trippingly wet and shivering a little.

Thorin leant forward and freed himself of his blue coat before he gently placed it on Bilbo’s shoulders. The small man’s face looked utterly puzzled and his cheeks turned red again when he started smiling and looked down with a quiet “Thank you.”

“Can’t have one of my teachers sick,” Thorin justified himself and Bilbo laughed again, before he fell silent and both of them watched the rain pour down and listened to Bailey's joyful noises.

For a while, neither of them knew what to say. It was cold and muddy and wet, but somehow it was beautiful nevertheless and it didn’t startle him that it was all due to that small, blonde man sitting aside him. It all seemed so familiar. The rain, Bilbo smiling next to him, his eyes fixed on something far away.

“When they told me she died, it was raining just like today, but when we buried her, the sun shone more brightly than ever.” It somehow escaped him, he had no idea how and why, but he had Bilbo’s full attention, even though he didn’t want it like that.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was low and sounded soft.

“She called me the week before, she was completely enthusiastic about something. She was doing research on clean energies and apparently she’d made some vital progress.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Bilbo marvelled.

“Whatever it was, she and her team were on the way to Switzerland, she told me why, at least I think she did, but I was too busy with work to listen to her...” he made a pause and looked over to Bilbo. The other man was nodding. Sadness filled his eyes.

“And then?” He asked, pushing Thorin a little.

“It was on the news first. Plane crash over Germany, eight people dead, no survivors and so on. It touched me of course, but I had forgotten it by the evening. Until they called me.”

Suddenly, the old sadness claimed his heart and at first he didn’t realise how Bilbo carefully placed his hand over his own and encouragingly squeezed it.

He needed to take two deep breathes until he was able to speak again. No matter how deeply he sucked the air into his lungs, it always felt as if it would escape him again. He looked away while the rain kept thundering on the roof.

“They said she was on the plane without doubt and that they had identified her remains and that they knew she had two sons and asked about the father and whether Dis and I were close, close enough to talk to the boys.”

“Where were they?” Bilbo silently peeped.

He would never forget where they had been. Paul and Elise had brought them to Fili’s piano teacher. The huge room had been flooded with light. The piano forte Fili was playing stood in front of long windows. He had been so small then with his kind face, his soft smile and golden hair. It would be two years next month, but Fili had grown so much since then. He had played so well and it had broken his heart to disturb him. So he had waited. He had waited three days, told them he was going to take them on a holiday to Scotland while their mum was away in Switzerland. A three day long escape from reality. He hadn’t seen them in months and while his younger nephew had enjoyed their trip, Fili had been suspicious all the time.

At home one of Desiree’s old friends had waited, and with her a sea of flowers on the doorstep and little presents.

 _“She’s not coming back from Switzerland, is she?”_ Fili had asked him and he hadn't answered.

Fili had grown up that day and until maybe a little time ago, he had never forgiven him. Kili had been different. After they had thrown him out of school for the second time within a few weeks, Thorin had decided to take a sabbatical year and concentrate on the boys. But Fili’s anger turned into an deathful stillness and Kili never changed. Before he knew it, he had lost them both, Kili to anger and Fili to silence.

He had hoped that taking them to places would help them heal and make some kind of family out of them, but wherever they went, they took their trouble with them. They had never even looked at the pictures from Tierra del Fuego or Australia, he still had them somewhere stuffed in a box in Dis’ house. From their trips, he only remembered Kili running away in Canberra and Fili not even smiling once. In the end, he had hired a private teacher to have them prepared for the next year at Erebor and a therapist to do the work he wasn't able to do.

He told Bilbo how he hadn’t slept the night before going back to school. He had loudly argued with Kili all night, about that damn music box, about lies and school and Fili sleeping in his bed and Desiree and that the boy hated him.

Bilbo didn’t speak when Thorin had finished. His mouth was all dry then and he felt horrible about it all now that it was out. He wasn’t the type of man to burden others with his own sorrows and weaknesses, but when he looked over to Bilbo, there was nothing cruel or judging in his eyes and he did not look at him any differently than he had before.

“In the end, they turned out just right,” Bilbo smiled softly, “nobody can ask of you to be perfect, you know.”

His smile was wider now and encouraging.

“How do you just make it all so much better?”

He couldn’t believe he had said that out loud, but Bilbo only laughed and squeezed his hand again, yes, it was still there and it felt warm and lovely.

And then it was Bilbo’s time to speak. And he told him about his mother and how he had never gotten to say goodbye to her and never been brave enough again to start living a life outside of his little flat in Brighton.  
In the end he got up and leaned against the outer pillars of the pavilion where it met the small lake.

“You know, you and the boys made my life better too,” he shrugged, “even though we had our difficulties at the start.”

Thorin got up as well and stepped next to him. Small raindrops moistened his skin, but his eyes were on Bilbo. For just a moment he debated whether kissing him would be a good idea. It seemed to be the perfect moment, away from the rest of the world, for their eyes only. The noises of the rain roared inside his ears and a thousand pictures danced before his eyes. They were standing so close, he could feel Bilbo’s breath on his skin, inviting him to take on more step and cover those lips with his own.  
But he never dared to do it. It was as if there was a glass wall in between them... a wall he could not tear down.

The moment he took a step back, he felt angry, angry and helpless.  
What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he that keen on loosing even the rest of his honour and dignity? Who was that man that made him weak like a little girl that needed a shoulder to cry on? All of a sudden the old feelings of hatred and mistrust were back. And out of nothing he felt guilty, guilty of letting himself go like that. Would Dis approve of that? Or Frerin? They needed him to be strong, to be a good man, raise two children and to lead a school, their family’s legacy!  
What was that man thinking? Sneaking into his life like that and making him this ... pathetic. He had no right to do that, he had no right at all to make a man this desperate out of him. Never in his life had he felt this furious.

Deep inside of himself he knew, that Bilbo didn’t deserve his rage.  
He knew that it was his own fault, that of course he had fallen in love himself, begun to trust him on his own. No one had forced him to - especially not Bilbo, but standing right there in the rain, that didn’t count. The only thing that counted was that he felt completely helpless. He was overwhelmed with his feelings, his fear of failure and the man he was supposed to be.

Bilbo was looking at Bailey jumping into the lake and smiling and Thorin felt as if he was a million miles away. Fears and anger made friends with the weight he had carried around these last two years and as if someone used a switch, there was nothing more than rage inside him.

He grabbed him by the shoulder where he stood and turned his face towards him. Bilbo looked startled and opened his mouth to say something; his eyes were filled with questions and incomprehension. Not a word left his mouth when he pressed him against that pillar and covered his mouth with his own.

Not a sheet of paper would have fitted in between them as he held on to the smaller man. He wasn’t sure whether Bilbo’s hands found the sides of his body because they wanted to or whether he was trying to push him away, either way would have made him angrier, so he let him go.

Bilbo looked bewildered and smitten. His cheeks were red and his lips thinker than normally. He looked so wonderful there where the rain could touch his face, his beautiful hair all messed up.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” He yelled at him, and Bilbo shrieked. His face was terrified. Of course it was.

“I- I didn’t...” He stammered.

“YOU DID ENOUGH!”

He had to breathe heavily. He wanted to feel those lips on his again. He wanted to raze it all to the ground. And he wanted to run, to run until the end of his life.

“BAILEY!” he screamed for the she-dog before he left the pavilion without looking at Bilbo again.

Upon realising that her master was leaving, Bailey quickly climbed out of the lake and looked towards Bilbo before she followed Thorin.

All his way through the rain to his car, he wanted to turn around, run back and say sorry, say sorry and kiss him again, take him home and never let him go. Before his inner eye he still saw the blonde man, terrified and taken aback. He had not wanted that kiss, and even if he had, there was no way this would have a happy ending. The school wouldn’t allow it, the board would make him leave and, even if he wasn’t able to admit that to himself, loving someone scared the hell out of him. He wouldn’t lose that last bit control over his life, and above it all, he would not let another person in his life, he would be afraid to lose too.

He didn’t feel the cold and wetness in the car. He shivered and Bailey whined on the backseat. She felt that he wasn’t well, she knew him better than he knew himself.

He felt horrible when he pulled into the driveway before the house, his heart was hammering hard inside his chest and he felt as if he needed to vomit. All kindness had faded away from his features, all the warmth he had felt those last months had vanished at once. His hands trembled when he let Bailey out of the car. He unlocked the door and took his wet clothes to the basement. He stopped on the stairs and got rid of the memory they had made down here, and instead he grabbed a pullover and a pair of jeans and left again.

His nephews were at the kitchen table, Kili doing math, Fili reading.

“Did you have an accident?” the older one asked and looked at him with a worried mien.

“No,” was his short answer before he walked upstairs and took a hot shower to get warm again. As the hot water ran down his body, no warmth returned to his limbs, they stayed cold, stiff and heavy. He didn’t see his own face in the mirror, he wasn’t sure who it was that was looking at him from behind the glass, but he was no stranger. He had spent all his life with him, that shadow of his lucky self.

He dressed in slow motion, his room lay in semi-darkness. The only sources of brightness were the flickers of grey light from the covered windows. There was laughter on the street and wind and rain carefully hammered against the walls of his room. He would have stayed in that state of self-hatred and involuntary sloth all night, but suddenly his attention was drawn to the ringing of the doorbell. He wasn't sure how much time had passed until then, it could have been hours. At first he didn’t question it much, he didn’t realise that he wasn’t waiting for someone, but when he opened the door and James stood all tall and smiling before him, he woke up a little

“What are you doing here?” He asked bewilderedly.

“What’s eating you up?” James asked and laughed.

Thorin only shook his head and stepped aside, letting his old friend in.

“Were we gonna meet tonight?” He asked, closing the door behind them.

“No, I just wanted to check up on you and the boys,” he paused after he had freed himself of his raincoat, “you don’t look too good, is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” Thorin rolled his shoulders and looked into the direction of the living room, “Fili, Kili, we have a visitor!”

He yelled for his nephews and opened the door to the corridor. Fili leant to the left in his chair and began to smile when he saw who it was.

“What are you doing here?” He asked and his little brother turned around as well.

James Dwalin gave his friend another curious look before he turned to the boys and sat down at the table.

“I just wanted to check up on you guys,” he smiled and looked at Kili’s math exercises.

Thorin cooked for them, but they didn’t speak much during dinner. He let James and the children do the conversation and only participated with short submissions every other minute. He had no appetite and he couldn’t wait for James to leave. In his mind, he was already going through the novels in his study. He still had several shelves of books he hadn’t read yet and that were only waiting for him to dive into. Maybe he could even get James to take the boys with him for the night. All of a sudden he wished for nothing more than an empty house.

Years ago, when he, Desiree and Frerin had still been children, his parents had had a small cottage in the South, somewhere by the sea. There had been no more rooms but two bedchambers, a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room with hundredths of old books. Dis had read them all and taken them out to the cliffs, where she had sat for hours and read until the sun had set while he and Frerin had played in the woods. He didn’t knew if his parents had kept the cottage after the death of his mother, but suddenly he wanted nothing more than drive all night to sleep one more time in his old bed next to his little borther. A sad, ironic smile conquered his lips when he realised that he had no idea how to get there and that there was no one left to ask.

“And you?”

He lifted his head.

“Me?”

“What did you do today?” James stuffed a few more potatoes in his mouth.

“He met Mister Baggins in the park,” Kili said and smiled, “did he say hello to us?”

“Yes he did,” Thorin answered.

“Did he tell you if we could come next time?” Kili smiled brightly.

Thorin shook his head and heard the rain patter in his ears again. He bit his lower lip when it remembered how soft those lips had felt on his and she looked up to his nephew when Bilbo’s face appeared before his inner eye.

What he didn’t see was James’ suspicious face. He crossed his arms before he nodded silently and leant forward.

“Boys, wat’cha think if I call Lizzy and she’ll take you to the cinema?”

As loudly as Kili assented, as silently Fili objected. His eyes were fixed on Thorin at the other side of the table. He crossed his arms, but agreed cautiously, gulping a little.

Together they cleaned the table and put the dished in the dishwasher. Just when they were done, Elizabeth Dwalin, a blonde, tall woman on high heels and in a long, green coat opened the front door with her spare key. She gave Thorin a kiss on the cheek before she calmly collected the boys. Thorin and James watched them drive away into the night from the doorstep.

“And now you will tell me what’s made you turn to ice.”

With a loud moan Thorin turned around and walked inside, followed by James who closed the door with a loud bang and kept talking to him insistently.

“I haven’t seen you like that in weeks, what the heck is going on with you?”

“I’m good,” Thorin said loudly and walked straight on to his bar. It was time to open the Scotch.

James took the bottle away from him and slammed it on the table loudly.

“You will tell me now, who or what pissed you off or I...” he stopped and looked into Thorin’s pained face, before his glare fell onto the chimneypiece.

Thorin closed his eyes. He had wanted to take the picture away in the evening, he didn’t want to be reminded of it any longer.  
James left him by the bar and walked over to it.

“So you met Mister Baggins in the park today,” he soundlessly said, “how well exactly was that meeting?” He turned around, but he got no reaction, “You know, we can keep playing this _‘don’t ask, don’t tell’_ game until the end of our lives, but that won’t change the fact that I’m not blind.”

Thorin silently poured himself a glass of that 42-year-old Black Bowmore Scotch and took a long sip.

“Don’t you think it’s time to tell me what’s going on with you two?” James asked and took the picture in both of his hands, carefully placing it on the bar infront of his friend. It felt as if his eyes would fill with water any second. He hadn't cried since Dis' had passed, and never infront of anybody else, but he was reconsidering now.

“Nothing, especially not after today,” his voice was half choked.

James looked back to the picture.

“Apparently it was enough to play happy family for a while.”

“Nonsense, he has a good connection to the boys.”

“Thorin, you are my best friend. Don’t you even try to fool me!, " James voice grew louder, "I’m no idiot and neither are your nephews. Henry Bofur and Lily Abernathy aren't and Professor Gandalf wasn’t either when he get got that little fair head to Erebor.”

“Don’t call him that!” Thorin loudly turned around and took the picture from him, stuffing it into a drawer of the bureau next to the fireplace.

“There we go,” James sighed and sat down on the couch showing Thorin to do the same, “let’s hear it, an' no more lies."

 

 

 

He was a little unused to sunshine in March that far up north, but it didn’t bother him much. In the end he was just there to observe the funeral, nothing more and nothing less, the sun didn’t matter.

He watched how Desiree Durin’s sons dropped red roses onto her coffin and how their uncle took them away afterwards. An old couple followed, then some younger women and men in suits that looked like teachers and finally Andrew Crawley, Doreen van Houten and Lee Wu, the three survivors, the three people that hadn’t been with her on the plane. Whiteskin would visit them this week.

It was for the company, he told himself, he had duties, and employees he needed to care for as well and he would get the data he needed, this way or another.

“Could have been easier for you, little lady,” he visited the open grave after the funeral party had left, “it’s your own fault, Dis, it could have been so much easier.”

“Did you know my mum?”

Samuel Auge had to turn around. Her younger boy set on a bench underneath the weeping willow next to her grave, far away enough to not having heard his words.

“Not very well,” Auge said and cleared his throat.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Samuel Auge, but my friends call me Smaug.”

“Why is that?” the boy asked.

“When I was still in school, everybody called me Sam, but when you say Sam Auge, you might as well say Smaug.”

The boy smiled.

“That’s kinda cool,” he got up from his bench.

“And who are you?” Auge asked.

“I’m Killian, but everybody calls me Kili.”

“I’m sorry Kili, your mum shouldn’t have had to die.”

The boy didn’t reply anything, but stood next to him at her grave.

“Goodbye,” he said then and held up his hand.

Auge took it and shook it, before he turned around and walked away, back to the small chapel where the rest of the party had gone.

“See you soon,” he whispered and threw another rose into the whole, onto Desiree Durin’s coffin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't never listened to that much Dido while writing a chapter of F&V ...  
> This chapter had, until my last drafts been very different, but a few days ago I realised that writing it that way would have been extraodirnarily BORING. So the story was basically just shorted by 2-3 chapters that contained nothing but... nothing really hihi - well, we made some progress! I'm already preparing for the shitstorm, no there won't be a 'happy ending' just yet, we'll make it to that final count of 17 chapters which already is 5 chapters more than I had anticipated :)  
> And now we finally 'know' who samuel Auge is (not that that was super obvious... but really, try to pronounce Sam Auge (the 'e' is silent) real fast and you get Smaug hihi that was the whole idea from teh beginning :D  
> In the next chapters we'll also be a little more back at Erebor itself and then of course there'll be a BIG, BIG finale. So many thanks to Shock, Chelsea and all of you wonderful readers! I'm so glad and satisfied that you what I'm writing, so tell me what you think of this :3


	13. Chapter 13

 

He didn’t sleep very well. Heavy rain flushed away the remaining snow and plunged on his roof so hard he feared it might come down right above him. But it wasn’t the rain that made his sleep fitful, it was the dream he had, the nightmare. He rarely dreamt at all, or at least, the next morning he couldn’t remember most of his dreams. As a child, he had taught himself to be wide awake during dreams and to be able to navigate through all the worlds he ever entered. He had been able to rewind certain passages, change details and play them again like a movie, but he had long lost that ability a long time ago. Now, that he was just a usual dreamer like anybody else, he was entirely at the mercy of the darkness and all the thoughts in his head.

When he entered the old manor, most of what he saw was gray. Paintings, carpets and curtains had long lost their colour and hung in shreds from the ceilings and walls. Windows were blown open, creaking, groaning with their age while fallow light ravished them of their last, ancient beauty. He himself wore rags, a blue coat that had seen better days and no shoes on his dirty feet. When he met a splintered mirror, he saw that his hair had long not been cut and almost reached down to his shoulders.

The laughter of a child made him turn, nothing but a shadow in the pale nothingness before him, but upstairs, where a long and broad staircase led him, warm light seemed to flare. He left the mirror behind and crested the stairs that creaked beneath his feet with every step he made. Countless rooms and floors, in architectonically impossible ways stretched before him, but light only came from one of them, the longest one that looked most eerie with oil-paintings of gruesome men and weeping women. The door at the end was only half closed and the familiar laughter of a child, it could as well been have Kili’s laughter, seemed to have its origin behind it.

Bilbo took close looks at the many faces that were raddled and scarred by grief and desperation. Not one face looked happy. Many of the stared at him as if they were looking right into his soul, judgment from a painted human, or whatever they came close to.  
The warmth that radiated from the door was the most awful and unbearable warmth he had ever felt in his entire life. This drowsy mind made him proceed no less, his second option would have meant passing the corridor with the faces again so he opened the door and looked inside.

The room was filled with thousands upon thousands of small butterflies.  
If there was an end to the room, Bilbo couldn’t see it for all the animals that quickly began to settle upon his shoulders and arms. They made no noise, but again and again he heard a child laugh loudly as if the sound came from their midst, yes, as if that was the sound they made. Bilbo wanted to close the door so they wouldn’t escape into the rest of the manor, but when he turned around, the door was gone. Instead, the butterflies began to fly faster and the laughter got louder. As Bilbo tried to follow it, searching for another way out, but he never reached another wall. How big could this ... hall be? And how high?

When he looked up, he found that the room had no normal ceiling, but looked more like the roof of a white church. It reminded him of Erebor. Looking down again, he realised that the butterflies were no longer dancing around him, but swaying past him as if they were all assembling before him. Wonder and fear made him stop. In the middle of the cathedral, a long pillar stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Now, that all the butterflies had cleared the air, they had revealed the monster that hung onto the pillar: A huge, black butterfly with red dots on each wing that stared at him like bleeding eyes and whispering dark words.

He could not breath, not move, not speak, he was paralysed upon its sight.

“Go away,” it whispered, “leave before I make you!”

“I-I can’t,” he peeped. He was petrified.

“Go way, or I will make you!”

It slowly flattered closer, grew bigger and more and more frightful, before it vanished – all of a sudden – and with it all the other butterflies, revealing a man, the man, the man he had seen all those months ago at the school, the man with the mask and the gun that, on _the worst day_ , had never seen him, but slowly turned around now.  
When he saw Bilbo, he raised his gun and shot.

Bilbo woke up, bathed in sweat, and coughed loudly. He couldn’t breathe through his nose and his throat felt raw and inflamed. His head pounded as if someone was hammering against the inner walls of his skull.

He had never dreamed of the worst day. Not once had the image of the man with the mask haunted him, not ever had it made him shriek. How could it really. There had been so much to do, so much to think about and to handle. It had kept him busy, being in love, it had kept him busy enough to repress whatever imagines and memories now finally found a way through to him.

It was still dark outside and one look at his bedside clock told him that the wolf’s hour had just begun. He felt hot under his blanket and realised that it was all wet from his sweat. He had to breathe heavily and almost moaned every time he took air in. He wanted to die. Had he not been this terribly sick, he might have been able to deal with it, but now that he could feel how his body was invaded by the sickness, he only wished to fall asleep and never wake up again.

His dry lips still remembered how they had been kissed, his shoulders how they had been grabbed and the whole of his body how he pressed himself against him, making him feel more alive than ever before. Bilbo hid his face in the pillow and sobbed only to cough again loudly. He needed fresh air and he found it on the balcony. He wrapped himself in his thick blanket and enjoyed the welcoming coolness of the winter night. His breath froze in the air and a tear ran down his cheek.

All of it blown away in the fracture of a single second, every little progress they had made together - destroyed in one fell swoop. He buried his face in his hands as he lived through that afternoon again and blamed himself for everything that had gone wrong. He dearly hoped he would catch a lethal pneumonia. He never wanted to see his face again. He had always tried to see kindness and warmth inside them. He wasn’t sure how much of it had been wishful thinking and what had actually been there.

And then there was the butterfly. He wasn’t quite sure what the little trinket had to do with his current situation, but his subconscious must have been very busy with it lately. Or maybe he had just seen one horror-movie too much.

The longer he sat in the cold, they heavier his eyes became. He needed more sleep and more Ibuprofen so he slowly scuffled back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so he wouldn’t have to sleep in the bacteria-tainted, dry air. He found what he was looking for in his bedside drawer. Extra strong tablets, 1000mg per pill. He swallowed two of them at the same time, hoping that they would not only take the pain away, but also carry him into a deep and restful sleep. He wasn’t all too sure about the latter though.

He woke up a few more times, thirsty and with the remains of a heavy headache inside his forehead. One time he thought the sun had already come up for it looked like dawn behind his shutters, but the watch on his nightstand said it was only shortly past six, he thought to himself that he would get up, call the school and tell them he wouldn’t come in today, but he passed out again soon.

When he woke up the next day, he felt groggy and beaten down, but at least rested. His first reflex was to get out from underneath the blankets, but his bedroom had respectable cooled down during the night and so he shuddered when he lifted the blanket and icy air crept underneath it. He had soaked both his linen and his sheets with sweat during the night and he felt that ne needed a warm shower and some tea, but only after he left the bathroom again, he realized that it was half three. He stared at the clock in shock, had he really slept that long?

Bilbo heard his tummy grumble. No wonder, he hadn’t had decent food in over a day. Maybe he should order something some the city and have the Morrison’s near Cemetery Road bring him some groceries, he really didn’t feel as if he would be able to leave the house soon. He was just about to order something from the Chinese restaurant down the street, when he heard his doorbell ring loudly.

_Who could that be?_

It surely wasn’t Thorin, and even more surely neither of the boys. It could be Bofur, checking up on him, or his neighbours, or maybe it was just a parcel.

It wasn’t though. When he opened the door no one else could have made him as happy as Lily Abernathy did at that moment. Her hair was longer now and dark blonde. She didn’t wear any make-up, not even lipstick and her face looked pale, but well rested. She had gained a few pounds, it suited her well, and she wore some lazy jeans and a grey pullover with the emblem of her alma mater.

Her smile was gentle and in her hands she held two large bags, both reading the Tesco logo, filled with vegetables, apples, a large bottle of Ginger Ale, pork and biscuits.

Bilbo knew her well. She was a lovely woman, full of helpfulness and joy, but he didn’t know her well enough to collapse into her arms, crying and sobbing while she dropped the Tesco bags and the apples wobbled down the few stairs to the mezzanine.

_He had enough. It was all enough now. Thorin, the boys, the worst day.  
He had enough._

“Are you alright?” She asked, putting both arms around him and softly patting his back. Bilbo only shook his head and clung to her.

She later carefully pulled him back inside his apartment and out of the cold staircase, closing the door behind them and sitting down next to him in the corridor leading up to the living room, one arm securely around him, the Tesco bags shoved somewhere into a corner.

“Are you in pain? Do we need to get you to a GP?”

Bilbo shook his head as he slowly calmed down and swallowed his final tear. It had been a while since he had last properly cried, years and decades maybe, but now that his over he felt soothingly weak and empty and rested.

“We were worried, Bilbo, Aaron couldn’t reach you for the past two days, we thought something happened.”

Bilbo shook his head again.

“I just talked to him yesterday, I told him I was sick,” he rasped with a soft voice.

Lily looked at him disconcertedly.

“Bilbo, it’s Wednesday, Aaron last talked to you on Monday when he called you.”

There was worry in her face when she brushed some of his curly hair out of his face. Bilbo’s glance fell on the _The Press_ Lily had brought up from downstairs. Bold letters announced date and weekday in its left corner: Wednesday, February the 18 th.  
He must have overslept a day. Missed it completely and when he had woken up, presumed he had slept long, but not as long as he actually had.

“We need to get you to a GP,” Lily announced and got up, “and afterwards you’ll tell me about the reason for your... _weeping_.”

Bilbo didn’t object, but let her bring her groceries into the kitchen. She made him dress and packed a small bag with water, painkillers and grapes, before she drove him to his doctor.

They came back shortly before dusk, Bilbo’s legs were shaking then and Lily had a hard time getting him up the stairs. He felt tired and exhausted again, but sleeping was harder now, that his body had made him rest for so many hours.  
They ended up sitting at different ends of his couch, Bilbo tugged into two woollen blankets and Lily opposite him, a cushion in her lap and a cup of tea in her hand.

She looked at him for quite a while, scrutinizing him, comparing him to the man she had known when he had left in fall after the worst day. Or at least that was what Bilbo was imagining she was doing.

“Since when have you been back?”

“Last week, I started working again this Monday.”

“How was it at home?”

“Decent,” she cleared her throat, “it was good to be back with my parents for a while, see someone about it all... you know...”

_The worst day._

Bilbo nodded.

“Ori said you weren’t feeling so well and that you’d probably forgotten to call in sick, I thought I’d make you soup,” she turned her head and looked at the kitchen. Her white pullover glimmered in the last light of the day.

“Thank you,” Bilbo peeped and looked down on the blanket.

“You know, you could have told me whatever it was, you could have called,” she said now, looking back at him. There suddenly was something cold in the sound of her voice.

He didn’t know what to say. Yes, yes he should have, but he had been too busy with his own little drama to look right and left. He remembered how he had wanted to speak to her before Christmas and hadn’t dared to. Only now it came to his mind that while the amount of time he had spent with the Durins had steadily grown, the time he made to spend it with his friends had come to a minimum of _hello_ and _goodbye_. It made him feel guilty. _He was a horrible friend._

“You know I didn’t plan on leaving,” she said, “I just couldn’t stay, and I don’t know how you managed... I really don’t.”

_Because I had to stay with him. I had to keep an eye on him._

“I guess... it just all carried on...” he whispered.

Looking back on it now it had. Days had passed, weeks had gone by even months, and he hadn’t spent a single second pondering over the time he and Kili had spent in that closet, telling stories, making up riddles and being afraid of the man with the mask and the gun that had forced them into the small chamber.

“Bilbo, nobody can just carry on when things like these happen to them,” Lily sighed and touched his leg.

“It came back to me last night,” he confessed, looking at his hands, “the man, he came back to me Lily, shooting at me.” His voice was a mere whisper and he didn’t dare looking her in the eyes, “And then all this fuss with...” he didn’t dare speaking his name, letting it pass his lips to make it even more real.

“With what?” Lily leaned furrowed a brow.

“The Durins,” he managed and looked up to her.

“What about them? I thought you and Thorin had made it up after... that day.”

“We did...” Bilbo cleared his throat, “I guess... we made it up a little too much.”

Lily’s eyes were filled with confusion when she first heard it. She shook her head in misunderstanding, before her glance shifted, shifted to the shelf as if something had caught her attention there earlier, but only now seemed to make sense. Her mouth fell slightly ajar when her eyes found the picture of Bilbo and the Durins. It showed them in Filey at the beach, Bilbo and Kili looking at something next to their feet in the shore, a shell maybe or a pretty pebble, and Thorin was standing there, right next to them, looking into the camera and smiling.

She looked back at Bilbo, waiting for an explanation, but all she received was a small shrug.

“It just happened.”

“So you two... you two are...” she stammered in disbelieve, frowning.

“No, no we’re not, I mean we... were... maybe, just maybe, but we never actually... but once.”

“You slept together?” Her voice was louder now.

“NO! _Christ no_ , that never happened,” he blushed and looked down on the blanket, “we kissed... once... a few days ago.”

“You do realize he’s sorta the headmaster of a Catholic School, do you? He could be fired for that, both of you could!” She put the pillow back on the sofa and crossed her arms, sitting up straight.

“It’s not that we planned any of this, I didn’t even know he was...” he couldn't call it by its name.

“ _Gay_ is the word you’re looking for, yes of course he is, he's not exactly fond of it, doesn't go to parades and stuff, but he's not into women.”

Bilbo looked at her in disbelieve.

“C’mon don’t look at me like that, it’s not like that's a secret!”

“Nobody tells me these things!” He cried out.

“Because he’s a good teacher and a great man, what else matters? Nobody talks about it in the open, it needs one fanatic pair of parents to hear of it and we can go looking for a new headmaster!”

“How do you know then?”

“Henry told me,” she shrugged, “he’s known him for ages and I guess at some point it must have come up.”

“Does everybody know?”

“Yes of course, just like they all know you’re not exactly fond of women either.”

“What?” Bilbo’s eyes widened.

“Well, Professor Grey told some of the staff, he actually joked about how you would make an adorable couple, everybody always thought he was just playing match maker when he brought you here. I’d have never thought that you’d actually make it happen...”

Bilbo had lost all his words at that. Mouth hanging open he sat there, his headaches coming back slowly and his heart pounding hard in his chest.

“I thought he told a joke, we were in a pub and said he’d just met Thorin and how he could need someone in his life to... you know help him with the boys and his grief, and then he went on about this friend of his, a German and Latin teacher from Brighton who... who might be that someone.” Something in her voice was apologising, maybe realising that, well, everyone had known about it, when Bilbo had not, “Apart from that we actually needed a teacher, because Hibbenhaus was leaving and of course, nobody knew back then that Thorin would take a sabbatical, it had only been a month after Dis’ death.”

Bilbo sighed and put his head in his palms. Once again he felt as if staying in Brighton would have his life so much easier.

“We all thought it was a joke, I mean, there’s nobody I know of, who actually really cares how he ... _likes_ it, but being in the position he is, it’s also not his to choose.”

“You really think they would fire him if any of the parents knew? in the 21st century”

“Yeah. I’ve spoken to a few of them, I mean, we actually have parents that send their kids to Erebor because they don’t want them to be exposed to a sex-friendly curriculum, we're not even allowed to give sex ed. I know that four years back there was talk about taking part in one of those ‘Some people are gay. Get over it.’-programs and the school board collected two hundred signatures of parents being against that,” she shrugged and Bilbo had to swallow that, closing his eyes.

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” Bilbo moaned. The school board, a congregation made up from the heads of the parent-teacher association, three pastors from York, Leeds and Manchester and a few alumni that were still very concerned with the school, had come up a few times in the past year. They didn’t make any major decisions, most of that was left to the headmaster, but they had a veto right or could draw attention to certain issues. Above all though, they had the power to dismiss any teacher, including the headmaster, if he opposed the school’s statutes or if it was ‘for the greater good of school and students’.

“It’s not that they’ve ever done it,” she got up and walked into the kitchen, “but they would.”

Bilbo heard how she turned on the water and he let out a long breath, feeling horribly guilty and fooled all the same. He was a stupid, little man – yes he has only tried to make it all better – but had he seriously thought about it all for only once? He had merely scratched on thoughts about what would happen if... if _they_ were to happen.

“Don’t give yourself such a hard time,” he looked up to her as she came back and let herself fall on the couch, “I’m sure he’s as much responsible for this mess as you are.”

Bilbo looked her in the eyes, his throat still hurting as if it was his punishment.

“Do you love him?” She asked after a long, long silence that was only disturbed by the sound of birds returning to the city.

“Yes,” he said and a small smile, that never reached his eyes, appeared on his lips.

Lily took him into her arms and squeezed him for a second before she patted his back and let go of him again.

“You are brave beyond measure Bilbo Baggins, and I honour you for that.”

He let out a silent laugh and watched how the weak afternoon sun illuminated her features.

Lily arose again then, calling Henry and asking him to cook for them. She wanted to wash and make Bilbo’s bed while he rested. She also called the school, telling them that he would stay in for the rest of the week. Bilbo watched as she swirled through the house, listening to music and cleaning up for him. She made him stay on the couch while she got busy in his bedroom, doing his wash and cleaning the sheets.

As the sun got ready to set behind the Minster, he thought of Thorin and Kili and Fili and how they would be sitting in front of the fireplace soon, Bailey sprawled out on the couch, they boys cuddling and Thorin reading a book. He imagined how their faces would shine by the light of fire and he wanted nothing more than to be with them.

Little did he know that the fireplace had not been lit since he had last been there, that Thorin buried himself in work while the boys waited for him to come downstairs only to be disappointed until they didn’t wait for him anymore and Bailey was the only one left in the cold, unlit room, sitting by the windows to the garden and waiting for Bilbo to come.

Henry cooked a delicious dinner for them, one that Bilbo could both taste and swallow easily. They cleaned up together afterwards, talking about the latest news, a jazz concert Lily and Henry were going to in the weekend and how it was finally getting warm again.

In the comforting stillness of the evening, they sat down in front of Bilbo’s telly and watched whatever Netflix offered first, occasionally talking and joking or getting up to get more tea. Lily finished washing Bilbo’s clothing and sheets just after midnight and eventually sent him off to bed, not without holding his hand for a while and telling him that it was all going to be okay. She held a long monologue about what was right and good and how he did not have to blame himself for anything. Bilbo could sense that she was afraid of leaving, because she started again and again, repeating herself and making him promise that he would talk to Thorin about it. She would only leave when Bofur told her that it was late enough and he didn't want to be too tired for driving.

The next days went by without any particular instances disturbing them. Lily continued to look after him once school was over and brought him soup, sat by him until his throat ceased to hurt and he could breathe properly through his nose again. By Saturday evening he was almost fully well again and decided that he would be going back to school on Monday. She gave him a content nod and told him how happy she was to be back.

Thorin was in his thoughts all the time. A wonderful warm feeling in his belly, the surety that there must be something that had caused that kiss took turns with the knowledge that whatever cause it had, it would not be strong enough to change anything at all. He would feel miserable then and sick with nothing to comfort him, but he hoped that he would be okay again sometime and probably happy too and look back on all of this with a certain smile while he was eating breakfast, maybe accompanied by someone else who had no face or name yet.

 

Henry drove him to school on Monday. Bilbo wasn’t sure as to how much Lily had told him, but his friend never even mentioned Thorin or the boys while they were driving. Instead he went on about the concert and that he wanted to start playing the saxophone.

“We should all meet on Friday for drinks at the _Duke of York_ , what’cha say?”

“Is that pub near Walmgate?” Walmgate was one of the many gates in York’s city walls, in fact it was the one closest to Bilbo’s apartment.

“It should be, Dori just keeps talking about it, it’s supposed to be quite nice, no students from the Uni.”

“Why not,” Bilbo absent-mindedly mumbled and looked out of the window into the landscape.

Erebor bleakly loomed over the landscape like a haunted castle. It seemed so horribly distant to him. When he later walked through the halls and corridors to his office, the once so sheltering stone offered nothing but darkness and cold to him. The light that fell through the windows was white and gloomy and every step he heard made him jump and turn around. Nothing offered the feeling of _home_ , nothing made him feel safe.

The day passed by quickly. He took lunch to his office, avoiding the others, Thorin leading the way. He felt as if he had not sat in it for years. A soft layer of dust had settled on the papers and folders, nothing more worth a week’s turn, but Bilbo could see it in the light coming from the windows behind him, dancing in the pallid sunbeams.

He never saw Fili that day, only Kili crossed his path when he was leaving the grounds in the afternoon. He was in the schoolyard, sitting by the stairs and watching the other children play. He waved at Bilbo enthusiacally when he spotted him, and Bilbo lifted his hand as well, though passed on quickly, too quickly for Kili to get up and follow him. He wasn’t ready for any conversation with the boys yet, but as the hours passed he felt more and more dreadful, evading every corridor leading to Thorin’s office or the science rooms. He was ready to give it all another chance by the next morning, but it took him until early afternoon to make that step and walk down the sombre corridor to Thorin’s office. He had promised it to Lily and there were a few questions he himself was seeking answers to. _Why did you kiss me? Do you feel anything at all for me? Why are you lying to me? Why did you run away?_ The sooner he came to that door, the harder his heart beat and the sweatier his hands felt. He gulped before knocked, trying to swallow his pride and commotion.

“Yes,” a tired voice answered from inside. It was all enough to set him at ease, to make him feel all those wonderful butterflies in his belly again. A smile reached his lips as he saw him sitting there, hair messy, eyes on his desk, pen in his hand. Bilbo had the door closed before Thorin had a chance to look up, see who had entered his office and send him away. When his glance fell on Bilbo, his tired features hardened and he put down his reading-glasses.

“Leave,” he hissed, looking down again.

“No, no I won’t, not this time,” Bilbo clarified with the strongest voice he could summon up, leaning against the door.

“Bilbo, just-”

“Forget about it?" he intercepted, "is that what you want? To just go on like it never happened at all?” Bilbo had not planned on raising his voice, but now he was almost sqalling.

Thorin remained silent - as if he assumed it had been a rhetorical question.

“Why? Thorin, just give me that one answer,” he lowered his voice again, pleading.

Bilbo did not get an answer. Instead Thorin rose from his chair, slamming the pen on the table. He looked pained, haunted, bruised.

“What do you want me to say?” He howled, and Bilbo was sure you could still hear it on the corridor, “There is nothing to be said!”

“OF COURSE THERE IS!” Bilbo yelled back.

“Then what do you want to hear?” The professor roared.

“The truth! For, for just once the truth, just once, in this room and now!” Bilbo replied, gesturing with his hands and never leaving him out of his sight.

Whatever he had been working on at his desk went flying when he swept it all down with his left hand. A storm of papers, carried further into the air by the wind coming in through one of the windows, accompanied by sunlight that never reached them.

“Why can’t you just forget about it?” Thorin’s voice was desperate, unsure if it was speaking the truth.

“Why would I?” Bilbo stepped closer until it was only one or two meters that parted them. His voice was but a whisper, “don’t tell me it meant nothing, don’t tell me it wasn’t true. Please..." there were tears in his voice, "please stop lying. To both of us.” He came even closer, his right hand resting on the table as he looked up to the taller man, hope in his eyes. He reached out to him, wanted to touch him more than anything, wanted to rest is head on that strong chest, wanted to fling his arms around him and never let go. Instead he felt how Thorin’s hands rushed to either side of his face before he felt how their lips touched yet another time.

It was different, so very different, because this time Bilbo’s hands quickly found Thorin’s sides where his shirt was still neatly tucked into his trousers. He held on to him has he opened his mouth and found himself back between the professor and another wall. His hands wandered to Thorin’s spine, caressed it carefully, before his nails dug into the fabric of his beautiful dark-blue jacket. He heard how his opposite silently moaned into his mouth and relaxed in his arms.

Carefully, Thorin ceased pressing him into the wall behind them until they moved and almost swayed, drunken with each other, to his desk, on top of which Bilbo found an almost comfortable seat. _Anything to feel the professor against him, anything._ His fingers quickly found a way to reach the naked skin of Thorin’s back, while the professor never stopped kissing him. He felt how his muscles tensed up under Bilbo’s palms, just before they relaxed again and embraced the touch, enjoying it visibly and audibly.

Soon Bilbo’s hands were messing with Thorin’s smooth, black hair, the passionate kiss they were sharing nothing short of a battle for life and air. He could hear how Thorin was heavily breathing while deep groans escaped his throat. He pushed Bilbo’s legs apart to come even closer until only the fabric of their wrinkled and dishevelled clothes parted them. An unfamiliar desire flamed up inside him, a wanting he was unable to name, but that quickly took over the better of Bilbo. If it had to be right here on this desk, he didn’t care, he wouldn’t ever care again, as long as he wouldn't turn away again and he could always smell lavender mixing in with the smoky wood, creating Thorin’s very own, delicious fragrance, he would be happy and content.

Bilbo was almost certain that this was how time ended and that they would spend the entirety of future like this: kissing, musing, touching, wanting. It broke his heart yet again when unexpectedly, Thorin turned away from him, without granting him another look. Bilbo saw how he rushed in the direction of the door, his right hand going through his messy hair and out into the hallway, leaving him behind. Again.

It didn’t take him a single second until he slid down from the desk, following him into the dark corridor and out into the sunlit, cold patio. _Not this time._

“Stop!” He yelled, his voice cracking, “Thorin please stop,” he started to plea, but he didn’t, instead he just ran on, his long legs being much faster than Bilbo’s.

“Go away!” He retorted, not turning around still, before he vanished through another door, back into the school.

Only when he followed him, Bilbo saw that the corridor was filled up with students, curiously eyeing their headmaster, as Bilbo followed him, more slowly now, to attract as little attention as possible.

He only said his name again when they entered another hallway, out of hearing distance of the students, leading to the school’s entrance.

“Thorin, please stop, we need to talk about this! You can't just run away from it.” He almost begged with a weak voice.

It seemed as though Thorin was finally able to turn around to him and stop running, when Bilbo heard someone else’s voice from around the next corner.

“Ah Thorin, there you are, we were just about to look for you in your office!”

From what Bilbo could hear, it was Balin and someone else with lighter steps. From where Thorin stood now, he could see them, but they only spotted Bilbo when they moved forward and around the corner.

For the fragment of a second, Balin seemed to be confused at the sight of both of them out of breath and running through the school, but then it seemed as if his glare fell on the shirt Bilbo had halfway tucked out of Thorin’s trousers only minutes ago, when they had still been in his office, lost in the best kiss he might have ever had. Balin’s glance then fell on Bilbo and his swollen lips and messy hair and crimped cardigan.

Bilbo wasn’t sure if he had put two and two together and simply dismissed it for the moment, or whether their odd appearance simply startled him, but didn’t cause any suspicions. He didn’t care much about it anyway, because he suddenly felt an icy shiver running down his spine, soon turning into a fiery burning when he saw the man accompanying Balin. It was neither his hair nor his lanky body that made him remember the man he had encountered wandering through the school’s halls on the first day of the term, _no, no_ it was his eyes. Those light brown, almost orange eyes that looked like those of a reptile more than those of a human being.

“Thorin, Thorin this is Samuel Auge, I believe you were waiting for him.”

“Yes I was, I am sorry to let you wait, Mr. Auge,” Thorin friendlily held out his hand.

“It’s _Doctor_ Auge, and I have only just arrived, I can wait if you are still busy, of course,” he answered, shaking Thorin’s hand, his glance shifting back to Bilbo.

Thorin turned around so look at him as well for the first time. Bilbo tried, but was entirely unable to read his face, so he crossed his arms, nodded and gulped.

“No, that isn’t necessary, we are done here,” Thorin silently replied, not to Balin, not to the Doctor, but the Bilbo alone.

Those words kept ringing inside his ears for the entire rest of the day.  
It was the only thing he carried away from their encounter, like an icy burn wherever Thorin had so gently touched him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truely sorry. I am so, so sorry this tok so long. I moved to England a few months go and have been so busy ever since. While settling in, I also had to deal with love-issues, it's quite a long story, but I had to make some pretty tough decisions and writing was out of question.  
> Then BotFA happend. It pretty much happened last night, which is why I needed to write today - no spoilers here, but yeah, it's not like I came out of that movie happily cheering and about to prep for two weddings lol.  
> Here is the new chapter now and finally. There are only 3-4 more to come and I promise I will do my best to publish them as soon as possible! Much Love and let me know how you liked it all!


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